


Catharsis

by vaxylia



Category: ATEEZ (Band), Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaxylia/pseuds/vaxylia
Summary: Catharsis;/kəˈθɑːsɪs/noun1.the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.Song Mingi is the newest recruit of an established elite dream-sharing team. He’d never believed the rumours that led to him getting the coveted spot, but as the truth unfolds and a web of secrets begins to slip the cracked façade, he was beginning to think there may be some truth to them after all.Or, ATEEZ!Inception AU.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jung Wooyoung & Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 73
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

Two sets of footsteps echo on the arching ceilings, each step on solid concrete reverberating in the silent corridors. Long and winding turns lead towards a place far away from the main bustling offices of the organisation, the active chatter and general noise slowly filtering away the further they traverse to a new wing. The rooms lining these corridors are either muted with disuse or impeccable soundproofing.

“The team prefers to work in isolation,” the man at the front speaks up, spoken in a normal volume yet seemingly booming in the previously silent air. He turns to glance at the boy following him, one shoulder raised in a shrug. “Helps them think better, apparently.”

The boy nods, not really knowing what to say in response. Whatever works, he supposes – and whatever the team did in this isolated building wing clearly helped, if their success rate over the last few years were any indication.

The ATEEZ unit was perhaps the most successful extraction team KQ Organisation has ever formed to date. Spearheaded by a prodigy and formed with other elite cadets, the unit established themselves in the dream sharing industry at a terrifyingly swift pace, quickly shedding their statuses as nameless rookies and churning out one successful assignment after the other in a time frame much quicker than anyone could have forecasted. Their growing reputation ignited interest in KQ – a relatively small and unknown organisation at the time – who opened their doors to an influx of new recruits, impressionable youths with stars in their eyes, guileless hopes and dreams of following in their idols' footsteps.

The team was seemingly untouchable, undefeatable, ahead of the curve, on the top of their game – until an unexplained incident led to an unexpected opportunity opening up to become a new member of the elite unit.

Rumours of internal conflict and conspiracy theories of volatile team members were rife within the walls of the offices and the training rooms; barring death, it was rare for established units to open doors to new members, even in similar dream share organisations to KQ. 

But with a highly confidential roster kept closely guarded under lock and key, the identities of the members were unknown – with the exception of the team leader and head of strategy, both central and highly publicised figures in the dream share industry – much less which exact members got suspended and for what reasons. 

Ultimately, nobody really had a full or accurate picture of what happened except the team themselves. Not even their closest core support staff could risk imparting knowledge at risk of losing their jobs – or worse.

The two figures finally stop outside an unassuming set of doors, and the man at the front gives it a cursory knock.

“Come in,” a muffled voice speaks from inside after a short pause. The man gives one last glance at the boy behind him, expression inscrutable yet with an odd hint of... _pity_ in his eyes? 

Before the boy could process this, the man had swung the door open to reveal two figures, one sat behind a large oak desk and another hovering beside him.

Both look surprised to see either the man, the boy, or both.

“Eden-hyung?” the man sitting behind the desk speaks, brow furrowed in surprise and tone inquisitive yet with an undercurrent of tension. “What—”

Before he could continue, the man, Eden, interrupts. “Hongjoong,” he steps to the side as a silent gesture for the boy behind him to enter the room. “Meet your new team member.”

+++

Never let it be said that Song Mingi has ever looked a gift horse in the mouth.

When the opportunity presented itself to take the much-coveted spot in the ATEEZ unit, led by none other than the legendary Kim Hongjoong himself, Mingi grasped at the chance with both hands like a rabid dog with a bone. He worked tirelessly to perfect every evaluation and exam, spending countless additional hours in the simulation rooms and racking up as many extra credits with one goal in mind – to be the best of the best, because to be part of ATEEZ you _had_ to be the best of the best.

Kim Hongjoong was like an urban legend among the cadets – almost too good to be true that he had to be mythical. KQ record holder in close quarters combat, marksmanship and proficiency with different firearms, camouflage and stalking – the list went on. Hongjoong was already an established high-ranking Black Beret when dream sharing became mainstream enough for private organisations to want their piece of the pie, and KQ recruited him specifically for their first foray into the venture.

He laid the groundwork solo with a team of scientists and doctors for the first six months, and the success of the project opened doors for more recruits to test it out, which would eventually form the fully fledged unit with the legend himself the commander at the helm. KQ – not just ATEEZ – was built on the blood, sweat and tears of Kim Hongjoong, and arguably owed every success and every victory to him.

Mingi was so embarrassingly star-struck by him that he dared not to refer to him by name, and secretly called him ‘the Captain' in his head.

The Captain was...a lot more _compact_ in real life, which Mingi realised when Hongjoong rose from his seat behind the desk and strode towards them. What he lacked in height, however, he made up for with his overwhelmingly powerful presence, his gaze striking and critical as it swept the top of Mingi's head all the way down to his shoes, and back up again before turning to Eden. Mingi hadn’t realised he was holding his breath throughout this entire perusal until he had those piercing eyes diverted away from him.

“May I have a word, sir?” His tone was neutral, however Mingi could detect an undercurrent of strain bubbling underneath the innocent inquiry. Whether Eden noticed this or chose not to acknowledge it is unknown; his gaze on Hongjoong is sombre.

“Hongjoong, this is Song Mingi. He ranked first at both the bi-annual and last quarterly evaluation and has been cleared for active duty. He’s been prepped for extraction so think of him as your new protégé.” Eden clapped a hand on Mingi's shoulder, breaking his staring contest with Hongjoong to give Mingi a smile. “You’re in very capable hands. Hongjoong is our best and brightest.”

 _Good to know I’m not the only one who puts him on a pedestal_ , Mingi thought to himself, but simply nodded silently in agreement to this statement.

“I’m nothing without my team,” Hongjoong murmurs in response, and the small smile on Eden's lips turns strained before it peters out. He lets his hand fall from Mingi's shoulder as he turns back to Hongjoong.

“Then I trust you’ll make him feel welcome since as of today, he is part of it. Seonghwa, I’ve sent you the files,” Eden addresses the other man in the room, who was still silently standing next to the desk, observing their exchange.

At the nod he receives, Eden gestures for Mingi to enter the room, and steps back out to the corridor. Hongjoong immediately moves to follow him, and just before the door swings shut, Mingi hears, “ _My hands are tied..._ ”

+++

“Song Mingi. Joined KQ 14 months ago as a referral from the Navy. Signed up for the dream sharing programme after a recurring back injury disqualified you from joining the Marine Corps.”

Mingi forced himself not to react at the last statement, a phantom ache shooting up his spine as if in a bizarre sense of response. A warm cup of tea was placed on the table in front of him, before the mysterious Seonghwa calmly lowered himself on the sofa across to face him, elegant fingers holding a teacup of his own. “Due to a misfire by a fellow officer. Missed your spine by only a few centimetres but did enough damage to put you out of commission for a few months, and still affects you from time to time years later.”

“I didn’t think my file went into that much detail, sir,” Mingi forced out a cool tone, picking up the tea cup to give himself something to do, and also to divert his gaze away from the enigmatic figure observing him with eyes that seemed to see right through him. He sipped the tea, and years of military training just barely stopped him from the jolt of shock at the perfect blend, just the way he preferred it – splash of milk, two sugars.

He needn’t have bothered as a low chuckle came from across the table.

“It didn't,” Seonghwa murmured, sipping his own tea, eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips curved at the way Mingi held the cup frozen after the initial sip as if suspended in time.

“It’s his job to know.” The statement, delivered in a matter-of-fact tone and the sudden re-entrance of Hongjoong into the room jolts Mingi out of his trance, and he hurriedly sets down his cup and sits up straighter just as Hongjoong lowers himself on the same sofa next to Seonghwa.

There is a tense set on his lips but he meets Mingi's gaze impassively. “Forgive my less than welcoming reception – I normally receive more prior warning for new members, and thus am usually more prepared.”

Mingi wondered at that since the opening for the team had been published six months ago and had been talk of the town ever since. He supposed complete isolation came with its own pros and cons, but surely as the leader of the team there was no chance Hongjoong wasn’t informed?

“So you want to specialise in extraction,” Hongjoong continued before Mingi could dwell on it, head lowered towards a folder of files handed to him by Seonghwa. “Your experience in covert surveillance and interrogation will come in handy. How many dream share hours have you done?”

Mingi felt very much like a recent graduate at his first adult job interview. “I’ve clocked in the mandatory 1500 hours in training simulations, plus another 4000 hours in optional training, sir.”

He received a short nod, Hongjoong's expression unreadable as he looks up to meet his gaze. “And any non-simulation experience?”

“They don't clear us for actual assignments until we pass evaluation, sir.” Mingi thought that this was probably how people felt when companies asked for fresh graduates to have minimum 10 years’ work experience.

“Figures,” Hongjoong snorted, but he didn’t look like he was ready to boot Mingi out for circumstances outside of his control. He set the file down the table, murmuring an absent thanks at the cup Seonghwa placed on his hands – black coffee, from the looks and smell of it. He sipped it pensively as the room fell silent for a few moments, Mingi forcing himself not to fidget awkwardly.

“Well, Song Mingi, dream sharing isn’t much different to driving – more specifically, the difference between being in an instructor's car with safety breaks, and the first time you drive solo in real traffic after you pass your test.”

Hongjoong set his empty cup down with a decisive click.

“You think you’re in control, until you aren’t. Welcome to ATEEZ.”

+++

Mingi follows Seonghwa down another set of corridors, simultaneously trying to remember the route so he doesn’t embarrass himself by getting lost on his second day as well as half-tuning in to what Seonghwa was explaining.

“—others are out, but Yunho and Jongho are here so we can get you started on some test runs for today.” Mingi perks up at this; he didn’t think he’d hit the ground running so quickly.

They stop at a set of double doors, and Seonghwa doesn’t bother knocking, swinging the doors open to reveal a large open-plan space. Each corner of the room seemed to be a designated workstation – the far left had desks overflowing with 3D models of cardboard cities and mazes; directly adjacent was a miniature laboratory with bubbling beakers and vials filled with unidentifiable fluids.

The opposite side of the room, undoubtedly tidier, had cork boards pinned to bursting with to-do lists, notes and paper clippings, leading into another corner with a boardroom meeting setup, seven chairs and a blank whiteboard.

And at the very centre of the room, seven stretchers in a semi-circle surrounding a silver briefcase, its wires neatly coiled and ready for use.

“Welcome to where the magic happens,” Seonghwa murmurs, and Mingi tears his gaze away from drinking in all the new sights to follow him like a lost puppy as he leads him to the corner of the room where it looked like Art Attack met Bill Nye the Science Guy.

There are two men who were mid-discussion when they entered and were observing them silently as they made their way towards them.

“Guys, this is Song Mingi,” Seonghwa introduces. He gestures towards the taller of the pair; Mingi was used to towering over most people but was surprised to note that this guy was even taller than him. “Jung Yunho – our architect.” Mingi nearly salutes before he recalls himself and sticks out a hand instead.

“Nice to meet you, Song Mingi-ssi,” Yunho's grip is firm and his expression unassuming and friendly.

“Likewise, sir, and please, just Mingi is fine,” Mingi hopes he sounds calm enough on the outside as inside his head he’s screaming.

Jung Yunho was up there on legendary status along with Kim Hongjoong – the second member to join the project and the only other publicised member of ATEEZ, Jung Yunho is the brain to Hongjoong's brawn, headhunted directly from the Covert Strategy department of the National Intelligence Service. KQ needed someone with an architecture background to start building dreams for Hongjoong to unlock its possibilities. The sheer detail of Yunho's worlds and his ability to build the most complex of mazes allowed the project to truly take off and elevated it to a whole new level.

“And this is Choi Jongho, our new chemist,” Seonghwa continued, and Mingi had no time to ponder that offhand comment 'new' as he was already reaching out to shake the other man's hand. Choi Jongho was a lot shorter, but he made up for it with much broader shoulders and a powerful grip, toned muscles obvious even when hidden underneath a white lab coat. Mingi didn’t think strength training and chemistry was a common pairing but it seemed this guy had both in spades.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” The man gives him a disarmingly gummy smile, and Mingi smiles back tentatively.

“Just Jongho is fine, if I can call you Mingi?”

Before Mingi could respond, Seonghwa's hand was already swatting the back of Jongho's head. “Nice try, kid – he’s older than you.” Judging by Jongho's irritated groan, this is not the first time he’s been delivered this statement.

“So…what brings you to our neck of the woods?” Yunho asks, arm slung casually over a 3D model of what looked like London’s Big Ben.

“Mingi is the newest member of ATEEZ.” Seonghwa answered on Mingi's behalf, tone neutral and not giving anything away on his personal feelings on the matter. Mingi doesn’t miss the quick looks exchanged by Yunho and Jongho; from the looks of it, they weren’t expecting him either.

Was every single person in this team hermits who lived under a rock?

“But we don’t have any positions open,” Jongho blurts out, seemingly involuntarily as he looked like he regretted it as soon as it came out.

Seonghwa's expression is completely inscrutable; he’d be a master at poker. “He’s going to be training under Hongjoong in extraction.”

Yunho was suddenly looking very grave, a far cry from the easy-going expression he had a few moments ago. Jongho's expression is akin to someone who just opened a can of worms, both figuratively and literally.

A few awkward seconds pass, and Mingi is really wishing that this day isn’t going to be a template of the months to come when the frigid atmosphere is broken by the doors swinging open.

Hongjoong is striding towards them, rolling up his shirt sleeves up to his elbows as he does. “You haven’t started yet? We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Hongjoong-hyung—” Yunho looked ready to launch into a whole speech, but one look from his target silences him immediately. An unspoken conversation occurs between the two, and Mingi directs his attention to the ceiling, anything to distract him from the tension in the room so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“Jongho, prepare a mild batch. A shallow dream is fine for now,” Hongjoong continued as if nothing happened, tone brisk. “Yunho, l need Tower Bridge finished by today. Seonghwa, can you read through the new assignment and brief the two?”

At the commands, the team dispersed wordlessly to their separate work corners and left Mingi standing alone with Hongjoong, who made his way towards the centre of the room next to the silver briefcase. Mingi followed him silently, still in awe at the sight of a PASIV sitting so casually out in open, when he would have had to fill out several tedious forms and collect numerous signatures to even be able to so much as _breathe_ near one when he was on training.

“Alright newbie – let’s do a quick five-minute run. Nothing too crazy, just enough to give me an idea of what you can do.” Hongjoong sinks down on one of the stretchers and the ease at which he inserts the cannula in his arm speaks of years of practice. Mingi does the same with a lot less confidence, missing the vein twice in his nervousness just as Jongho comes over with a vial of pale-yellow fluid.

“Ready, gents?” Jongho asks after he clips the vial in place. Mingi nods weakly and Hongjoong shoots a thumbs up.

“Sweet dreams.” He pushes the button, and Mingi slips away.

+++

He’s standing in the middle of a crowded theme park, the noisy chatter of couples and families filtering into his consciousness, delighted whoops and screams from the nearby rollercoaster roaring into his ears. He feels out of place wearing his standard issue KQ uniform, yet somehow right at home amid the hustle and bustle.

“ _Wolmido Island_ , huh? Interesting choice,” a voice suddenly pipes up behind him, and he turns to see Hongjoong dressed in casual denim dungarees with a bright yellow long-sleeved jumper underneath, one hand carrying a giant swirl of strawberry and bubble-gum candy floss and the other popping bits of floss in his mouth.

“It’s in my hometown, sir,” Mingi murmurs by way of explanation, drinking in the sights around him. It’s just as he remembers it. “I spent most of my weekends as a child here.” When out of his depth, Mingi always defaulted to what was familiar.

“We need to work on your blending,” Hongjoong responded wryly, still steadily working his way through the candy floss. He does have a point – Mingi is sticking out like a sore thumb and has had more than a few suspicious glances sent his way. Though personally, Mingi's not wholly convinced it’s just him seeing as his companion seemed to have inadvertently taken fashion tips from those little Western movie characters called _minions_...

Mingi dreams himself up into a simple hoodie, jeans and a pair of converses. He also conjures up his own candy floss for good measure. When he’s done, he turns to Hongjoong and finds him looking at him with an approving smile – Mingi feels his face warm at the unexpected reaction and hopes he isn’t blushing too obviously.

“Show me how you can build.” Hongjoong leads them over to a less crowded area, facing the rest of the theme park. Mingi notes the curious glances sent their way but they are otherwise undisturbed. Hongjoong either has incredible control over his subconscious or Mingi has been so unremarkable so far that he doesn’t even ping the radar – he nervously hopes it’s the former.

Hongjoong gestures aimlessly in encouragement. “Go on.”

Mingi barely scraped by at his first building evaluation, but finished top of the class at the final exam. _This is why you’re part of ATEEZ now_ , Mingi thinks to himself as he dreams up a princess carousel and places it next to the Ferris wheel. _Time to show him what you can do._

Hongjoong's eyebrows raise at that, but otherwise he doesn’t look blown away. “Not bad,” he allows, but before he can finish, Mingi has already placed a loopy, winding rollercoaster spanning the area of the whole park. Hongjoong grins this time. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

And okay, maybe Mingi got a _little_ carried away because he was like a hopeless teenager trying to impress the popular kids. He couldn’t help it, this guy was his hero, his idol, all those extra hours put in just so he could finally have the opportunity to work under him, to learn from the best—

In hindsight, the Big Ben was a tiny bit of an overkill. The projections were already grumbling with discontent at the pirate ship he’d dropped right in the middle of the ocean; a British landmark showing up in _Incheon_ was definitely asking for trouble.

Mingi’s never even been to London – he was basing it purely off the short glimpse he saw of Yunho’s 3D model.

Hongjoong looks exasperated yet amused as he and Mingi break into a jog towards the empty beachfront; multiple heads swivel towards their direction as the crowd begins to follow them.

“Well, Song Mingi, for what it’s worth, it’s clear your building is up to speed – but you need to learn how to tone it down before you get yourself killed. We’ve only got five more minutes left, let's—”

Hongjoong suddenly freezes mid-run, brow furrowing and jaw working soundlessly. Mingi also stops, swivelling his head around in confusion.

“S-Sir? What—”

All too soon the angry mob catches up to them, and Mingi is just about to dream up a weapon when the crowd parts to make way for a stunning male, hair the colour of sunlight and gaze trapping Mingi in place.

He’s never encountered a projection more breath-taking, more realistic-looking – most projections were shadowy, nondescript faces, similar to strangers you pass on the street but never really fully register.

The man steps forward and stops just in front of Mingi, and Mingi catches a glimpse of a birth mark on the corner of his eye, partly hidden by his blonde locks.

“How could you bring a stranger here?”

His voice is surprisingly deep, seemingly out of place on such delicate features. His eyes are like bottomless pools, eerily devoid of emotion and yet so mesmerising, Mingi couldn’t tear his gaze away.

Behind Mingi, Hongjoong had gone unnaturally white.

The stranger’s impassive mask turns ugly in an instant.

“ _Hongjoong-hyung! I trusted you!_ ”

Mingi chokes as a knife is embedded deep into his gut. Blood rushes up his throat and spurts past his lips, showering the blonde in front of him in crimson rain.

The mob descends as Mingi falls to the ground – the Big Ben clangs once, twice, three times as the dream collapses.

+++

Mingi shoots up with a choked gasp. He scrabbles to pull out the cannula on his arm but finds his hands too clammy and shaking too much to do so. Across the corners of the room the others are rushing towards them.

“What happened?” Seonghwa demanded, reaching them first and pulling out Mingi’s needle. Mingi jumps from the stretcher, as if in some misguided notion that putting distance between himself and the PASIV would change what happened, somehow.

“What—who—” Mingi struggled to get the words out, the phantom blood bubbling up his throat still choking him. He stares at Hongjoong who was still lying motionlessly on the stretcher, eyes cast towards the ceiling and looking like he just received a death sentence. “What the fuck was that? _Who the fuck_ was that guy?”

He didn’t have enough presence of mind to care if he was swearing in front of his superior. He didn’t care if he was being hysterical. He swept a shaky hand through his stomach, where the knife had torn through his insides and literally sent his guts spilling out.

“What guy?” Yunho demanded, as Hongjoong continued to stare unseeingly into the ceiling. Well if he wasn’t going to elaborate, Mingi had no problem doing it for both of them.

“Some charming blonde just showed up out of nowhere and _ripped my guts out_ ,” he said shakily. “Not just any random projection. He called H-Hongjoong-sunbaenim by name.” At these words, colour bled out of every single man's face, but Mingi was too caught up in his hysteria to notice. “H-He said something like, 'h-how could you bring a stranger here'? He had this weird birth mark next to his eye, I don’t know why the hell I remember that...”

The room was frozen for the next few moments, only interrupted by Mingi's heavy breathing. The other four were so stiff they looked like statues.

“His name is Yeosang.”

Hongjoong's voice, though soft as a whisper, was unexpectedly jarring in the silence.

There was a wealth of pain and grief in the simple statement.

“And he’s the reason why you’re here.”

Song Mingi never believed the rumours that led to him joining the most elite unit of KQ.

But he was beginning to think there might be some truth to them after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Baby ATINY here.
> 
> This whole story came to life when two of my greatest loves collided unexpectedly – namely, K-Pop and the film _Inception_. 2020’s pretty much been a write off for obvious reasons, but this has definitely been a silver lining for me.
> 
> ATEEZ had been on my radar since Wonderland, but once the Inception MV dropped it was hook, line, and sinker. Needless to say, these eight boys have had me firmly in their clutches since then – and I regret absolutely nothing. If you’re here, you’re obviously a fan but if you’re a casual listener, go watch one of their variety shows or stream their entire discography from start to finish, I dare you to find one bad song (I dare you! You won’t!).
> 
> I do recommend you’ve watched _Inception_ (the film, not the MV, but watch the MV as well!) before reading this, as a lot of details will be basing off the assumption that the reader is familiar with the more technical aspects of this universe. Having personally seen it an embarrassing amount of times – to the point I know some lines off by heart – I cannot stress this enough; go watch it if you haven’t. More than once, if you can; each time I see it, there’s always something new I’ve somehow missed.
> 
> In conclusion, watch Inception. And stan ATEEZ.
> 
> -vaxylia


	2. Chapter 2

After a less than stellar first day, Mingi approaches the work room with a sense of trepidation. His last glimpse of the room had been to four of his supposed new team members looking like they’ve just been told to face the firing squad, before Seonghwa visibly composed himself to ask Mingi with only a small tremor on his voice to have the rest of the day off to recover and report back here tomorrow at 0800. 

Mingi couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

But he wasn’t about to let this inexplicable setback dictate the rest of his time with the team – violent projections with a mysterious identity notwithstanding, he was determined to either ignore the elephant in the room or do some subtle digging to find out more.

He knocks softly and pauses for a moment to give the occupants – and himself – some time to gather themselves, before swinging the door open.

A good night's sleep or something along those lines worked wonders for the group, who were all looking much more composed than when he left them yesterday, all working away silently at their workstations. 

Hongjoong, he noted, was rather conveniently absent.

“Welcome back,” Seonghwa greets gently, crossing the room to meet him halfway. He looked cool as a cucumber, a far cry from the deathly pallor his skin had tinged after yesterday's...incident. His mouth is curved in what looked like a bewildering marriage between a smile and a grimace; so unexpectedly off-kilter on an otherwise flawless face that Mingi finds himself returning it with a small one of his own, charmed despite himself.

Neither bring up what happened yesterday, and Mingi doesn’t want to upset the shaky foundations further by bringing it up voluntarily – he files it away at the back of his mind for now.

“Hongjoong is otherwise engaged today so he won’t be able to join us,” Seonghwa states calmly by way of explanation, making his way back to his desk and picking up a slim black notebook. Mingi sweeps a cursory glance at all the post-its and to-do lists littering the walls, in what could only be defined as organised chaos – despite being filled to bursting, all the papers were aligned in a methodical manner and spoke of a compulsively tidy owner. 

Curiosity gets the better of him and he tries to read one of the notes; he doesn’t get very far, very quickly realising that it’s all written in a form of coded shorthand. He gives up and turns his attention back to the dark-haired male, who was wearing the same amused smile the first time he served him a cup of tea that was somehow prepared in exactly the way he liked it. Even his own mother doesn’t get it right every time.

_It’s his job to know_ , Hongjoong had said cryptically, and Mingi forces himself again to tune in to what Seonghwa was saying. He always found himself drifting off whenever he was in the other man's presence; whether it was his calm demeanour, akin to a deep pool undisturbed by ripples, or his gentle, soothing voice, Mingi wasn’t sure. But he doubted asking Seonghwa to repeat himself because Mingi was too busy not paying attention would win him any favours.

“He's left you in my care for today – he’ll work on extractions with you when he’s next in, but for now he’s asked us to work on your blending.” He snaps the notebook closed and slides it back on the desk behind him, starting to roll up one perfectly tailored shirt sleeve as he leads Mingi back towards the centre of the room, towards the PASIV.

_No rest for the wicked_ , Mingi thinks, trying to calm his bubbling nerves as he squares his shoulders and sinks down one of the stretchers. Seonghwa assesses him calmly, and whether it was to spare him the embarrassment or he noticed the tell-tale tremor on his hands, unspools one of the wires and gently inserts the cannula into Mingi's vein in one smooth, practiced motion. Mingi barely even felt a pinch.

“We’ll be going into my dream this time,” Seonghwa murmurs, sliding into his own stretcher and leaning forward to press the button. The ceiling starts to blur and slowly become grey as Mingi's eyes slip shut.

+++

He doesn’t realise where they are until a snappily-dressed waiter silently slides a rainbow tray of macarons on their table, Seonghwa murmuring a, “ _Merci beaucoup_ ,” while his slim fingers lifted a delicate tea cup to his lips to take an elegant sip.

Seonghwa sits back on his seat, attention directed towards the busy traffic rushing about to and fro past the tree-lined cobbled streets across the outdoor seating of the cafe they were currently in. Chicly dressed projections chattered away mutedly in the tables surrounding them, passers-by on the pavement a few metres from their table minded their own business and ignored them in a distinctly _French_ fashion.

Further down the road and a bit blurry from both distance and general pollution, a familiar steel tower overlooking the city.

Somehow Mingi wasn’t surprised. Seonghwa looked like he _belonged_ in the elegant capital, soft raven hair coiffed to one side and revealing a hint of a growing undercut, lean frame dressed in a jacket tailored so perfectly to his broad shoulders that it looked like he was sewn into it. He wore a soft black turtleneck underneath which only put emphasis on his long neck, and highlighted a jawline so sharp it could slice someone’s flesh. As he turned his head to face Mingi, a silver, dangling earring glinted in the sunshine and the flickering gave Mingi the much needed jolt to stop staring so creepily.

“It was always my wish to live here,” Seonghwa volunteered all of a sudden, reaching forward to take one of the pink macarons from the tray and taking a small bite. “I’ve always admired how effortlessly _chic_ the French are. Like they're born dressed head-to-toe in _Chanel_ and every day is a cat walk.”

Mingi, having never left the Asian continent his entire life, made a noncommittal noise in response and reached for a macaron of his own – lemon, the sharp, tangy flavour slightly muted underneath the sweet cream. The furthest he’d ever been from his hometown was Tokyo, on a school trip as a teenager; even at his time in the navy, the most remote mission never went past Jeju Island.

Ambitions of travelling to far-flung destinations thwarted after the injury that squashed his hopes and, heh, _dreams_. Mingi wasn’t certain if the sour taste in his mouth was the macaron, or the swelling of bitterness the memory brought up.

“Then I actually went, and the culture shock squashed that,” Seonghwa was saying, lips twisted in an amused, wry smile. “The real thing was unexpectedly _filthy_ , the real Parisians a lot more condescending than called for. That took my rose-coloured glasses off pretty quick.” Seonghwa took another sip of his tea, chuckling lowly to himself. “That’s the beauty of dreams – you can choose to present only the great parts and conveniently sweep away the bad and ugly ones under the rug. Out of sight, out of mind.”

He looked pensive after that statement, gazing unseeingly into his tea for a long moment, thoughts clearly in a far away place.

Mingi stayed silent, letting the unintelligible conversations around him sweep through him as he allowed the other man to get lost in his thoughts.

Maybe it was the location and the extent of his very limited knowledge of Paris, or France in general – admittedly only from what he’s seen in films or TV shows – but his subconscious started filling the dream with some embarrassingly familiar figures. A curly ginger-haired chef rushed past with a rat on his head; a young blonde boy dressed in a tan detective coat followed closely by a small white dog. And, much to Seonghwa's amusement, a mime started performing across the road; dressed head to toe in all the stereotypes, complete with a beret, red neck scarf, striped shirt and suspenders – he even had a baguette slung over his shoulder in a canvas bag for inexplicable reasons.

Mingi felt his face heat up – hey, he never pretended to have a refined palate in French culture.

“You’re an interesting character, Mingi-ssi,” Seonghwa remarked, looking a lot less pensive now and still watching the mime amusedly. Mingi coughed out an embarrassed laugh, reaching for another macaron – inwardly he was relieved that the mime seemed to have distracted the other from whatever was previously bothering him.

“Just Mingi is fine, sir. And I suppose you can be the judge of that considering how much you seem to know about me,” Mingi segued into the new topic coolly, aware that he wasn’t even being remotely subtle in his efforts. From the growing amusement in Seonghwa's face, he assumed correctly.

“As Hongjoong mentioned, it’s my job to know these things,” Seonghwa allowed indulgently. “You don’t have any dream share experience outside of training simulations, do you? So I’m unsurprised if you’ve never heard of something called a 'point man'?”

Mingi doesn’t bother to pretend he has any idea what that is, shrugging in open honesty. “Can’t say I have, sir.”

Seonghwa nodded in consideration, crossing elegant limbs together in a smooth motion. “There isn’t much use for us in a controlled environment like a simulation. On a real-life assignment, however,” He tapped his temple lightly. “Knowledge can be the difference between life and death. To put simply, if the primary team’s role is to get the job done, my role is to unlock all the hidden avenues of an assignment so the team doesn’t accidentally turn up to nasty surprises.” That explained all the to-do lists and notes on Seonghwa's desk. 

“Plus, I do all the tedious research that the others are too important for. I do the boring stuff so you guys can do the fun stuff without getting killed.” The way he phrased it sounded like a private joke, rather than the remark of an offended party playing second fiddle to the more primary roles of dream share.

From the short period Mingi has had to observe his new team, however, he wondered if Seonghwa was heavily downplaying his own personal worth and purpose in the team – from the discreet yet heavy reliance a man like Hongjoong seemed to place on him, he was definitely an enigma that had yet to fully reveal itself.

“Walk with me, Mingi,” Seonghwa rises from his seat, hands casually slipped into pockets of impeccably tailored trousers as they amble down the cobbled avenue. Mingi had the foresight to blend in more suitably this time with his casual shirt and jeans, but he might as well have dreamt himself into a potato sack at how underdressed he looked compared to Seonghwa's effortless elegance.

Seonghwa starts to lead him towards a crowded plaza. “Let’s test how well you can blend into the crowds.”

Mingi stares at the faceless figures ahead, steps slowing automatically as he starts scanning each face frantically, his heart starting to beat faster.

At his sudden hesitation, Seonghwa slows and turns to him, coming to a complete stop when he takes one look at Mingi's face.

It takes a long time for him to speak again, and when he does, he doesn’t try to mask the pain in his voice. 

“ _He_ won’t show up, if that’s what you’re worried about. You have my word.” 

Part of Mingi knows he’s being irrational; he was trained at this for God's sake, he’s died in a dream more times than he could count...

But deep down, he knew that one time was different. This _Yeosang_ – whoever he was – was different.

At Seonghwa's gentle reassurance, however, he makes a concentrated effort to relax.

The questions – _who, what, why, where_ – threaten to bubble up the surface and come spilling out, but the quiet pain in Seonghwa's eyes squashes it all down.

Mingi’s jaw was still stiff with nerves but he forces out a nervous laugh. “You wanna see how many times I can change my hair colour before the projections notice, sunbaenim?”

The quip – and change of topic – delivers its intended effect, Seonghwa chuckling lightly, round eyes crinkling at the edges. And just like that, the tension drains away.

“Show me what you got, newbie. And please – call me _hyung_.”

+++

It’s a few weeks before Mingi is declared ready for his first assignment.

In the meantime, he’d spent it prepping with the team, spending half his days in dream space and the other half seated in front of the whiteboard with each of the other four team members, taking copious notes on areas he needs to improve on and areas he needs to begin tackling. It's not much different to the teaching setup he was used to, except this time he was working with a much more refined, experienced team; his own, woeful lack of hyper-exposed whenever they threw curveballs his way that he’d never encountered in any training simulation KQ had ever created. And he would know, considering he’d done most, if not all of them to prepare for this very role.

Seonghwa was a patient teacher, if not a little too indulgent at times; always gentle and soft-spoken even when correcting Mingi's errors. Mingi found himself looking forward to their simulations the most, marvelling at the way Seonghwa always chose an exotic new destination to expand his horizons to. From the sun-drenched deserts of Morocco, the salt flats of Bolivia and the breath-taking Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe; far-flung locations worlds away from the tiny bubble Mingi has only ever been exposed to in the real world.

Jongho was more Spartan in his approach, more upfront with his criticism but always critical and never cruel; notably, Mingi observed that he made a pointed effort to spend as little time as possible in the dream space, preferring to stay topside. “I'm a chemist at the end of the day; my main job is to make sure I don’t accidentally kill you guys with a bad blend but otherwise that’s as far as my involvement goes,” he’d said cryptically when the question in Mingi's eyes became obvious. At Mingi's nonplussed look, he had shrugged and thrown out another equally vague statement, “like a drug dealer, I prefer not to sample my own product. Keeps me level-headed that way.” Which only left Mingi with more questions than answers.

Yunho was methodical and structured, asking Mingi to go over his drills repeatedly until he was satisfied. He did reveal a surprisingly playful side by starting a friendly competition with Mingi of who could build a better maze and escape it faster; despite being light years more experienced than him, their currently tally was 21 wins to Yunho, 2 to Mingi. Though Mingi considered those supposed victories more akin to a benevolent older brother letting their younger sibling win a few times to pretend they ever had a chance.

Hongjoong, on the rare times he was available – it seemed being a leader demanded a more bureaucratic presence, with majority of his time consumed by meetings upon meetings with higher-ups, prime minister of X, CEO of Y, chairman of Z – preferred to let Mingi take the reins whenever they were in a simulation, observing silently in the background before giving him his honest input. He was a lot more subdued compared to their very first dream together, his attention always partly elsewhere and preferring to keep their dream time as succinct as possible.

Mingi wondered exactly how badly that incident had affected him, considering they were never in a dream alone after that. It seemed there had been some internal discussion that Mingi hadn't been privy to, or perhaps an unspoken agreement to never let Hongjoong and Mingi go under unaccompanied. Thus, there was always a Seonghwa, Yunho or Jongho lurking in the background of their test runs, trying their hardest to remain incognito but sticking out awkwardly nonetheless.

Mingi couldn’t find himself complaining, considering their presence seemed to have done the trick – the elusive _Yeosang_ never once showed up again.

Curiosity was eating him up on the inside as to _who_ this mysterious figure was – and why he had everyone on knife edge, like the whisper of his name was enough to send this house of cards toppling. A few tentative inquiries with each individual member of the team (apart from Hongjoong; he couldn’t find the courage) had yielded very little result; Yunho clammed up immediately and segued into a different topic, Jongho looked like he’d rather eat a bucket of fire ants rather than discuss anything related to him, and Seonghwa...the quiet devastation as soon as Mingi brought him up was enough to shut him up permanently if it meant never seeing that expression on his face again.

Some external digging trumped up even less results; for all intents and purposes, there was no _Yeosang_ in any accessible records, his very identity unknown to public domain.

More covert searches flagged up so much red tape that Mingi dared not proceed for fear of the repercussions. Whoever this guy was, he – or KQ – was determined to keep him under wraps.

In the prep leading to his first assignment, Mingi had no time to spend pondering on mysterious figures; soon enough, he was seated in front of the whiteboard again, this time with the rest of the team as Seonghwa handed out slim folders to each of them.

“Standard extraction, pretty straightforward for our newbie's first day at school,” Seonghwa's tone was impish as he threw a teasing smile at Mingi. Mingi could feel his ears burning but he kept his gaze impassive as Seonghwa continued, “The client is being blackmailed by her former lover who’s threatening to release sex tapes to the press. If released, the damage will be a huge and irreversible blow to her political campaign.

“She’s also not entirely unconvinced that this isn’t just an attempt at a smear campaign and he’s been paid off by her rival candidate to knock her off the competition. But she needs concrete evidence if she wants to make that accusation as a counter-attack.”

Seonghwa taps one of the photographs pasted on the whiteboard – a middle-aged male captured mid-conversation with a half-smoked cigarette held a few inches to his lips.

“That’s where you come in. Mr Bang fancies himself a successful investor who’s made a few costly hiccups here and there so he clearly needs the money – whether it’s from our client or her rival candidate. You will be posing as wealthy portfolio owner looking to sell some prime real estate in Gangnam; we need to lure him to the assigned location where we’ll take him under. Once you’re in, your job to find out where he’s keeping the master tapes, or,” Seonghwa pauses. “Where he’s hidden the secret recordings of his meetings with the rival candidate.” Mingi doesn’t bother asking how he came by this information. 

“ _Or_ if you really want to prove yourself, you’ll get both,” Seonghwa added cheekily.

“He’s a member of ATEEZ – I won’t expect any less.” 

All heads swivelled towards Hongjoong, who had been otherwise silent all this time – his gaze is on Seonghwa, expression inscrutable with the darkest hint of... _something_ in his eyes that Mingi can’t put any words to. Before he could dwell on it further, Jongho's dry chuckle interrupts his train of thought.

“No pressure,” he says wryly.

“The landscape I’ve built is the house he shares with his new lover in the outskirts of Seoul,” Yunho speaks up. “Upstairs in the master bedroom, behind an obviously fake Van Gogh is a safe. A little bit boring and predictable, sure, but it’s a starting point and this guy doesn’t strike me as very shrewd.”

“And how do I distract Mr Bang in the meantime?” Mingi hoped this wasn’t a dumb question – in all their training simulations, he always went under with someone else. This time, as far as he was aware he was flying solo – Seonghwa was accompanying him and the client to the rendezvous point but would stay topside to watch over them while the extraction took place.

“Ah, about that – you’ll have someone assisting you, not to worry,” Seonghwa advised cryptically. “He’s flying in so he'll be running a little late – but he says he’ll be able to make it on time to meet us at the rendezvous.”

Mingi sat up straighter at this. Up until this point, he hasn’t met any of these supposed other team members. The only indication they even existed were the odd offhand comments thrown here and there referring to _the others_ , Seonghwa mentioning they were away, but with no indication of where or when they’d return, and why there were always seven of everything even if Mingi had only ever come across the same four members since he started weeks ago.

At the mention of this unexpected addition, Yunho and Jongho visibly perked up. Hongjoong's expression remained impassive, but the corner of his lip curved up ever so slightly.

“You always did have a way with words, Park Seonghwa,” he murmured, the full name rolling off his lips in an unexpectedly _intimate_ way that Mingi felt his stomach flutter with a foreign sensation. 

Whether anyone else took notice of this exchange was unknown; Yunho and Jongho had already drifted off back to their corner of the workshop, occupied with a private conversation. 

Mingi busied himself with re-reading the file in front of him despite having read it front to back a hundred times, the familiar and semi-memorised words doing little to distract him from the staring contest the two figures a few metres away from him were having. He dared not speak up for fear of interrupting such a private moment, but at the same time cringed inwardly at how it felt similar to seeing his _parents_ kiss openly in front of him.

After what felt like an eternity later but was likely only a few seconds, Seonghwa lightly tapped the desk in front of him with a set of car keys. Mingi looked up to find him smiling easily, the very faintest hint of a blush colouring his cheeks. 

Seonghwa cleared his throat, that weird smile/grimace combination on his lips again, playfully twirling the keys on his finger.

“Ready to go?”

+++

The first part of the assignment went as smoothly as it could probably go. Mr Bang was cocky and self-assured, firmly on douchebag territory if someone asked Mingi's honest opinion – but it made him an easy mark, naively agreeing to join Mingi and slipping inside the Mercedes Benz none-the-wiser as Seonghwa, posing as an unbelievably well-dressed chauffeur drove them to the location in Gangnam.

As soon as he stepped inside the flat, Seonghwa calmly slipped a syringe into his neck and knocked him out in seconds, Mingi assisting in lifting his unexpectedly heavy dead weight to the bedroom.

There was no sight of his supposed dream companion anywhere, and Seonghwa must have seen the anxiety on Mingi's face since he gave him a reassuring smile just as he unearthed a pistol from the inside of his suit jacket (how that wasn’t outwardly visible considering how precise Seonghwa's tailoring was remained a mystery to Mingi), unlocking the safety and methodically checking the bullets.

“He’s a few minutes away. Keep yourself hidden if you have to until he comes.”

Mingi steeled his nerves and nodded shakily, falling back on the bed next to the conked-out target. Seonghwa gave him one last wink before pressing the button.

He opened his eyes to an empty corridor, a muted television playing in the living room behind him. In the distance, he hears the rumbling of a car engine peter off into silence and the distinct sound of a car door being opened and closed. He hurriedly hides behind a door frame just as the front door opens and Mr Bang comes strolling in, tugging his tie loose and haphazardly taking off his shoes at the entryway.

“I’m home! Honey? Where are you?”

Mingi desperately hopes that the target’s subconscious doesn’t throw a wrench in his plans and conjure up his mistress – before he could finish the thought, however, the tell-tale sound of footsteps begin to echo from upstairs, steadily making its descent.

Out of sheer luck, Mr Bang had made his way to the kitchen and was busy rummaging in the fridge to hear. Mingi calculated that if she went past where he was currently hiding, he could grab her quickly and—

Mingi freezes when seemingly out of thin air, her... _double_ appears and grabs her swiftly, one small palm pressed to her mouth as a slim arm wraps around her throat.

He could only stare in dumbfounded shock as the woman and her complete mirror-image grapple with each other for a few moments, before the one at the back swiftly and efficiently snaps the original one's neck, catching her easily and lowering her to the floor with unnatural ease, as if she hadn’t just killed her other self.

He didn’t even realise he’d fallen to the floor on shaky legs, and the muffled noise captures the attention of the double, who locates him easily with a guileless smile gracing her lips.

In a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, she morphs into another person – male this time, not much taller and with equally enviable body proportions; lazy cat-like eyes and shark-like grin unexpectedly softened by the indent of dimples on both cheeks.

Before Mingi could process what the hell was happening, she (or he??) is back to being Mr Bang’s mistress, the same grin on her lips sans the dimples.

“Welcome, newbie,” she drawls out, voice smoky with mystery. “Your _distraction_ reporting for duty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur!Seonghwa is my kink...oops, my bias is showing. 
> 
> Lol, what bias, there’s no such thing as biases in ATEEZ, only one bias and seven bias-wreckers...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Captain Kim ♥

Mingi was distracted the whole journey back to base, gaze unseeing at the passing traffic and consumed by his thoughts.

After the unexpected entrance of his dream companion – who took on his role as a distraction with wholehearted enthusiasm by abruptly stripping naked and sauntering into the kitchen to, well, _distract_ the target – Mingi managed to slip upstairs undetected to deliver out the mission, cheeks burning at the _noises_ filtering from the kitchen as he cracked the safe.

The job was done in record time, and he stayed out of sight until the timer ran out and he rode it back up to the top level where Seonghwa was waiting, Mr Bang still knocked out peacefully beside him. His elusive companion was nowhere to be found – the only indication that he wasn’t some weird fever dream Mingi conjured up was a third wire unravelled from the PASIV, the cannula stained with a barest hint of blood.

There was no time to explain or chat as they went to work quickly and efficiently to pack up the PASIV, Seonghwa slipping out the door with it just as Mr Bang resurfaced with a loud groan, complaining of a pounding headache and wondering what the hell happened. Mingi regurgitated the bullshit story as outlined on the assignment brief – _you suddenly fell and hit your head, oh my goodness I was so worried I was about to call an ambulance, here let me call you a taxi to take you home_.

The target is safely ensconced in a taxi with empty promises that Mingi will be in touch to finalise the sale of the property, fully aware that he'll never see him again. Mingi stays where he is by the roadside, watching as the taxi rounds the corner; the Mercedes Benz pulls up moments later and he slips inside.

Seonghwa was delivering the post-mission details to Hongjoong over a Bluetooth headset, eyes fixed on the road and a relaxed posture to his frame as he commandeers the car. Mingi closes his eyes and lets Seonghwa's warm tones soothe him, suddenly exhausted after the adrenaline drains out of him.

All too soon they’re back at the headquarters, and Mingi is greeted with applause as soon as they enter.

“Congrats on losing your virginity,” Yunho teases, ruffling his hair enthusiastically.

“You’re finally a man,” Jongho quips cheekily.

“Baby's all grown up now,” Seonghwa adds for good measure, pinching Mingi's burning cheek.

“Alright, give the man some air,” Hongjoong's tone is exasperated but fond, squeezing Mingi softly on the shoulder. Somehow, the simple gesture makes Mingi blush even harder, much to the other three's amusement. “Great work, newbie. Not bad for a first assignment.”

“What about _me_ , hyungie? I had to get my tits out, you know!”

At the sudden outburst, five heads swivelled towards the doors, where a figure stood with his hands on his hips, soft pink lips twisted in a pout and cat-like eyes narrowed towards Hongjoong. _Definitely not a fever dream_ , Mingi thought faintly, just as the figure advanced, imposing and intimidating despite his shorter stature and smaller frame, waist so slender Mingi could probably fit his hands around it if he tried.

The mysterious newcomer headed straight for Seonghwa, sliding toned arms around his slim waist and cuddling up to his side; Seonghwa seemed accustomed to the sudden contact, his only outward reaction a gentle smile, even raising a hand to fondly stroke the other’s hair. The narrow eyes, however, were centred on Mingi.

“Hey sugar,” his voice was just as sultry in real life as it was in the dream, “great work out there. Glad my tits came in useful.”

“Yes, no doubt Mingi appreciated your _improvisation_ ,” Hongjoong interjected dryly while Mingi was temporarily tongue-tied. “Newbie, this is Choi San.” 

San smoothly slid out of Seonghwa's arms to sidle up and do the same to Hongjoong, gaze still firmly fixed on Mingi.

Hongjoong tolerated the touch with much less indulgence than Seonghwa, but he didn't shrug him off and his gaze on the other boy was undoubtedly fond, tone proud as he continues.

“He’s our forger.”

+++

If Mingi already felt woefully inadequate – spending all these weeks like a newborn foal learning how to walk for the first time – nothing could have possibly prepared him for this.

This...this stuff was talk of urban legends, something trainees feverishly discussed and debated in the simulation rooms with both sides equally passionate and most discussions usually ending in heated arguments.

It’s possible. No, it’s impossible. If you can build entire cities, why wouldn’t you be able to dream yourself up as someone else? You’re telling me you can _pretend_ to be someone you’re not in a dream? And mirror them perfectly enough to fool others without somehow giving yourself away?

“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling,” was San's amused response to Mingi's babbling, lazily stretching, his toned muscles rippling at the movement. While Mingi was busy being mesmerised by the slow, almost seductive act, his brain registered too late that San's frame slowly grew smaller, waist growing even narrower while his hips expanded to fill out an undeniably _female_ figure.

“I can fulfil any fantasy,” the latest it-girl actress purred at Mingi, sauntering over to where he stood with his mouth open and trailing one soft finger on his cheek. He stayed frozen in his spot as she seductively swayed to his side, the brush of her womanly curves making him shudder just as a now-male voice whispered directly into his ear.

“I can be _anyone._ ” And as Mingi turned his head, he found himself staring at his own face.

He yelps involuntarily, backing up a few steps in his shock. His mirror-image laughs unashamedly, and Mingi felt like he was having an out-of-body experience seeing his own face laugh at him like that.

“Sannie, can you stop teasing him? You know forgers are still rare and few in between. It’s no surprise Mingi has never encountered one before.” Seonghwa didn’t bother hiding his exasperation, frowning disapprovingly at San from the sun-lounger he was relaxing on. He’d chosen a location closer to home today, the golden, sandy beaches of Phuket and calm blue waters a tranquil location for Mingi’s introductory lesson to San's abilities. 

San had pouted and whined about wanting to go under with Mingi alone, but had pointedly been ignored as Hongjoong directed Seonghwa to supervise them.

“It’s for your own good,” Jongho had muttered to Mingi just before he went under, tone suddenly grave and serious. “The first time I went under with him he made us act out a scene in _Train to Busan_. If he wanted to live out his Gong Yoo fantasy, he could have just said, you know? I could have lived without the zombies...”

In hindsight, supervision was probably a good idea. Mingi would never admit it to a living soul but he was a complete wimp when it came to scary things, and San seemed the type to fully exploit that to his advantage.

“ _Boo_ , let me have my fun, hyungie,” San – still posing as Mingi – whined, and Mingi couldn’t help but cringe at hearing his own voice and seeing himself whine from an outsider’s perspective like that. “It’s not everyday I get to have fun like this. Forging doesn’t have the shock value it used to have back in the day.”

San heaved out a dramatic sigh, slowly switching back to his own body as he slid next to Seonghwa on the sun lounger, zero concept of personal space as he cuddled Seonghwa's arm like a lamprey. “Soon I’ll be replaced by a younger, hotter model. I’ll have to beg Seonghwa-hyungie to be my sugar daddy so I can keep food on the table.” A mischievous smirk curled his lips as he trailed a seductive finger across Seonghwa's chest. “On second thought, I’m liking the sound of that – _daddy_.”

The only response Seonghwa had for San's seduction was to roll his eyes. “Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes? You’re supposed to be teaching Mingi. I know we’re on a beach but this isn’t a holiday.”

San returned the favour by rolling his eyes as well, untangling himself with a huff. “So _boring_. You’re spending so much time with Hongjoongie-hyung you’re starting to sound like him.”

Seonghwa immediately went red, but San was already walking back towards Mingi who had composed himself in the meantime. It definitely helped that he didn’t have to look at himself anymore.

“Honestly, kid, I don’t know what to tell you; forgery isn’t really something you can teach,” San drawled out, serious for once. “Plenty have tried and failed. There’s no method behind it, so much as dumb luck.”

“How do _you_ do it, sunbaenim?” Mingi asked, curious nonetheless. Of course, he’d attempted it himself before; even if he had no clue how to go about it and had no reference point whatsoever to base it off on. As expected, he didn’t get very far with his efforts, just ended up looking constipated but with still the same face he was born with.

San made a sour face. “Kid, call me San or hyung or whatever – _sunbaenim_ makes me feel as old as Hongjoong-hyung.” He then blew out a loud sigh, hands on his hips. “And I just...imagine it in my head, and somewhere in the middle the wires connect and it translates to the rest of me. The first time I ever did it was kind of a fluke – I was in a jungle simulation and the winning team would get to eat _jajangmyeon_ for dinner. It was down to just me and one guy; I remember wishing I had something up my sleeve so I could beat him.” San grinned at the memory. “I ended up winning when the other guy shat himself because he bumped into who he thought was himself. Thought he’d gone crazy.

“I guess what I’m saying is...I really wanted some goddamn _jajangmyeon_. And yeah, forging happened as a result.”

Seonghwa was rolling his eyes again – Mingi had never seen him this fed up even after a few hours patiently explaining things over and over to Mingi.

“ _How enlightening_ ,” Seonghwa drawled out sarcastically. “And stop calling him 'kid', he’s the same age as you.”

“When’s your birthday?” San suddenly demanded brusquely.

“Uh...9th August?”

San grinned bright as the sun, dimples on full display. “Still your hyung by 30 days, _kid_.”

+++

San was a complex character, to say the least. Not that Mingi dealt with him long enough or even saw him around to be able to formulate a balanced judgement – he was always out doing whatever it was he was doing, never sitting still or spending time regularly in the office like the rest of the team. He didn’t even have a workstation like the others did – _don’t need one, just need my gorgeous face and sexy body and the world is my oyster_ , he'd said confidently with a wink.

He very rarely showed up unless he was asked to come in by Hongjoong, or when he was feeling particularly mischievous or bored (or both) and would come in out of the blue to disrupt everyone’s work. Whether it was swapping Jongho's vials to cause a chemical reaction, or rearranging Yunho's models to alter maze entrances and exits, he amused himself however and with whomever he pleased. 

Seonghwa was probably his favourite victim, always clinging to him and seducing him shamelessly while simultaneously laying various silly traps like fart cushions or dumping salt in his tea while he diverted Seonghwa's attention elsewhere. Mingi doubted even Hongjoong was spared from San's antics, though he couldn’t know for sure since he was also rarely around and had his own office.

It was probably for the best that San's visits were few and far in between – work productivity nosedived significantly when he was around.

Contrary to what Mingi expected as a common response to someone wreaking the same havoc as a hurricane, however, the others treated San's pranks with an overwhelmingly generous abundance of goodwill, laughing it off even when they had to spend the next few hours undoing the damage. Not once did anyone yell at him or get angry. 

They all just let him do this thing; bafflingly enough, they almost seemed _grateful_ that he was pulling all these stunts.

More than once, Mingi had noticed an underlying sense of _relief_ on their faces as he helped fix the messes San left in his wake.

When working, however, San was a completely different person – his striking duality was sometimes so sudden that it felt like whiplash whenever Mingi was exposed to it. Mingi was so used to associating him as a mischievous prankster, dimples always on display as he pulled another joke on the team members, that his brain struggled to keep up with San’s serious and no-nonsense persona when the time came to buckle down for assignments. It was clear he took his role very seriously and kept the boundaries between work and play firmly separate.

“ _Shit_ , they’re onto us. I didn’t think he'd catch on so soon.”

Mingi’s thoughts were interrupted by the statement, brain switching back to where he currently was; crouched behind a decorative potted plant in a hotel lobby, peeking over his shoulder to where suited projections were clearly on the hunt for them.

He was neck deep in his second assignment with San – the clients this time around were the estranged family of a wealthy owner of a conglomerate, who had made the executive decision to leave his entire fortune to his new, much younger lover – much to the consternation of his ex-wife and their three sons.

Mingi’s job was to find out where he was hiding the new will, and San was thrown in for good measure to convince him to change his mind ( _open for interpretation, use own discretion_ – that was literally what the brief stated, word-for-word. San had rubbed his hands in glee).

“Oh yeah, he’s militarised by the way so be careful, okay?” Seonghwa had said absently just before he put them under, as if commenting on something as blasé as the weather.

Which explained why they were both hiding behind adjacent potted plants a few metres across each other. Because the old fart, like any other wealthy person, was rightly paranoid about potentially being targeted for dream sharing and had obviously prepared for this exact scenario – and why there were now faceless goons on the hunt for the dreamer; San, in this case.

“No way around it, kid, we gotta go with plan B,” San was saying. What plan B? He didn’t even have a plan A.

Mingi was sure he hadn’t said that out loud, but from San's amused smile it seemed his face had said it anyway. 

“One thing the brief didn’t mention is that old saggy balls over there is _el homo_ ,” San drawled, grin turning Cheshire. “His new lover is a little twenty-one year old twink. Now normally, I’d say Seonghwa-hyungie is more his style, but since he’s seen him already I can’t really use him without raising suspicion...”

Mingi was still translating in his head. _El homo_? _Twink_?

“No way around it – gotta use someone else.”

Mingi's brain short-circuited at the sudden change of voice.

His blood started to roar into his ears as he turned his head slowly, still desperately wishing it wasn’t who he knew it was.

As soon as his eyes caught sight of hair the colour of sunlight, his blood ran cold, ice flowing through his veins like he’d been dunked into an ice bath.

+++

A gun was out and pointed towards him in a flash, every action instinctive and self-preserving.

“H-How,” Mingi choked out, voice trembling but hand steady as a rock behind the barrel of the gun. 

The gun he was pointing at _San's_ head. “How the _fuck_ did you get in here? What did you do to San?”

San slowly raised his hands, absolutely dumbfounded at this unexpected reaction. He had used the first face he could think of, almost on auto-pilot; someone familiar, someone _he was used to_ rather than conjuring up someone from scratch, and...

Now he had a gun pointed to his head. By someone who, for all intents and purposes, shouldn’t even know who _he_ was, much less what he looked like.

The loud click of the gun being cocked brought San back to the present situation.

“I-I asked how the fuck you got in here,” Mingi growled out, in complete contrast to his face spelling out absolute terror. “ _Who_ the hell are you? Why do you keep appearing?”

This was getting ridiculous – they had a mission to do and couldn’t afford to waste time chatting like they were at a tea party. San huffs out an impatient breath. “Listen, we don’t have time for this—”

He made a move to go towards Mingi to do God knows what, knock some sense into his head or something—

A bullet had lodged itself into his shoulder before he could move another inch. Pain exploded so sharply his eyes went blurry, a shocked gasp choking out of his lips.

“D-Don’t come any closer!” Mingi was yelling, and San had just about had enough.

“ _Are you fucking crazy_? When I get my hands on you—”

He didn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence. Before he knew it, his eyes had slammed open.

Seonghwa was above him instantly. “What happened? It’s too soon!”

San was snarling with rage. “ _What happened_ is this kid shot me in the fucking head! What the fuck—”

Seonghwa was already plunging another sedative into the target's vein, demeanour calm even as his eyes betrayed his worry.

“This should buy us some time,” he said as he looked over at where Mingi was still under. “What happened, exactly? _What did you do, San_?”

Before San could work up righteous indignation at the insinuation that this was somehow his fault, Mingi's eyes shot open and he jerked up with a gasp. Courtesy of shooting the dreamer, the dream had obviously collapsed after San took a bullet to the head. He hoped Mingi got a faceful of concrete as karma, San thought sourly.

“Hey kid, what the fuck was that all about? You—”

Before he could continue, Mingi had grasped Seonghwa's arm like a lifeline, face white as a sheet.

“H-Hyung, he was there,” he choked out, looking absolutely terrified as if he'd just seen a ghost. “H-He followed me, hyung. _He was there._ ”

Seonghwa was fluttering comforting hands over Mingi, looking helpless for the very first time since San met him. It was such an alien look on him; he was always so calm and collected, so unflappable.

“Who, Mingi? Who was there?”

Mingi looked like he had clammed up, but he managed to choke out one last name, voice barely above a whisper.

“ _Yeosang_.”

At the name leaving his lips, San's whole body went numb. 

As he met Seonghwa's eyes over Mingi's head, they both knew, slowly but surely, that the web of secrets they were trying desperately to contain was unravelling beyond their control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Arthur!Seonghwa is my kink...then Eames!San is my goddamn religion. 
> 
> If I had one complaint about the film, it would be how it kind of glazed over forging and how amazing it is, so this chapter is a self-indulgent homage lol.
> 
> And yes, I shamelessly stole my favourite line from the film. Come at me Nolan!!


	4. Chapter 4

“I gave him two days' authorised leave. He’ll be back on Monday.” 

Hongjoong's tone was brisk, no-nonsense – his expression austere with an underlying but unmistakable hint of fury. 

There was no trace of his playful hyung in sight – this was the Kim Hongjoong who lived up to every inch of his ferocious reputation. Just as well – San didn’t feel like joking around anyway.

“I want you to tell me,” Hongjoong continued, steely gaze cold as ice; a lesser man probably would have started weeping by now. “What the _hell_ you were thinking.”

“As I already mentioned in my official report, _sir_ ,” San bit out between gritted teeth, “I was under time pressure and needed a convenient tool to use at my disposal. I was not informed prior to the mission that doing so would earn me a bullet in the head.”

“You will watch your tone in front of me, _Choi San_.”

Hongjoong's tone was like acid, hot and burning that San couldn’t help his flinch. He didn’t like this side of Hongjoong, even if the situation called for it.

The mission had ended in an absolute shit show after their novice extractor had been too shaken to finish off the assignment. Left with no other choice, a recovery team had to be called to clean up their mess and find a suitable story to sell to the client to explain their failure – all of which had costly consequences that needed to be answered to. Hongjoong had spent the last twelve hours in front of several department heads going through the details over and over, head bowed as he took the blow on behalf of the team.

Mingi had been sent straight to psych evaluation and sent home for the next 48 hours. San wasn’t so lucky – the mountain of paperwork fell to his and Seonghwa's hands and they had the absolute pleasure of hand writing the same thing over and over again for each report that needed to be sent to the relevant departments. Why they didn’t drag this archaic system into the 21st century and use computers, San would never know or understand.

Back to the matter at hand – Seonghwa had clearly had enough and decided to step in, as he always did when things got too heated.

“Hongjoong, why don’t we revisit this tomorrow? It’s been a long day for all of us.” 

His voice, ever so calm and soothing, bathed over both of them like a cooling balm, effectively defusing the mounting tension.

“Fine,” was Hongjoong's succinct response after a long pause, but his tone had shifted to resignation from the previous anger, his absolute exhaustion visible in his voice. “San, I expect you back here at 0800 tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

San wasted no time in leaving the room, avoiding either pair of eyes as he went.

Hongjoong waited for the door to fully close before he buried his face in his hands. How could he let this happen? How could he let his team fall apart like this? How could he—

Gentle hands cupped his, softly disengaging them from where they had been digging harshly into his eyes. He kept his eyes firmly shut as fingers began to massage his temples, breathing out a shaky sigh.

“I’m losing control, Seonghwa,” he whispered into the silent room. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The old Kim Hongjoong would never have let himself fall apart like this, and he’d be caught dead before he’d do it in front of another person. Such displays of weakness were enough to get you killed in the battlefield, where survival was already a luxury that not everyone could afford. The army had chewed him up and spat him out hardened beyond repair – and when he rose up the ranks, it wasn’t just his life on the line anymore, it was the heavy responsibility of others' that weighed on his shoulders.

Seonghwa was...different. He was unlike anyone Hongjoong had ever met before, in the many corners of the world he’d travelled and the hundreds of people he’s encountered – there was no one quite like Park Seonghwa.

Elegant and mysterious, he was soft where Hongjoong was battle-hardened, cool and calm where Hongjoong was fiery and hot-headed; as far as opposites went, they were like the North and South Pole, and yet..

 _You need someone to watch your back_ , the mysterious boy had said, voice husky and soothing. _So you can keep facing forward._

“It will sort itself out,” Seonghwa spoke in a soft tone, fingers continuing their circular, gentle motions on Hongjoong's temples. “Rest, Hongjoong. Rest your mind for now.”

Hongjoong's body slowly relaxed at the ministrations, the bone-deep exhaustion finally catching up to him.

At the back of his mind, however, he knew the trouble brewing was just getting started.

+++

Jongho had always prided in his ability to stay level-headed in the face of mounting pressure.

He may be young, but he was a firm believer that age didn’t necessarily dictate experience or maturity – recklessness had no excuse no matter how long you’ve been alive and breathing.

“I need another batch – now.”

The brusque, frankly rude tone should have made his hackles rise, but he refused to take the bait; he let it slide off him like water off a duck’s back. He kept his face smooth of any expression, gaze aloof.

“I’ve told you time and time again that this stuff is toxic in the long-term. Prolonged use will have serious, irreversible effects.” He didn’t just mean physically – Somnacin was one of the most dangerous drugs for the simple fact that it could corrupt your mind completely. Bones could be re-set and wounds could heal, but once your mind was gone, there was no getting it back.

As usual, his ominous words fell on deaf ears, just as it had the last two, three, four, _countless_ times he’d had this same exchange. 

“And _I’ve_ told you time and time again that I – don’t – care. So, you either give it to me or I go somewhere else.”

Normally, a threat like this would earn a scoff from Jongho – talk was cheap, and Jongho was a busy person; if they wanted to go somewhere else, then go ahead. And if things ever got physical, they had another thing coming if they thought he was just some wimpy scientist unable to defend himself – they got well-acquainted with Jongho’s fists before they even had the chance to take back their words.

He really wasn’t joking when he’d told Mingi he was a drug dealer. How else was he supposed to have survived all those unpaid internships?

But this was different – Jongho didn’t know how the hell he got in this deep when his dogma had always dictated that he stay detached, always create boundaries – he had always been a bit of a lone wolf, always too busy focusing on his future, his promising career; too busy to look around to see if anyone else was supporting him because he could support himself alone just fine.

Until that fateful day he’d received that call out of the blue from an old friend, a hyung he’d been close to and cherished once upon a time but gradually lost contact with – voice as smooth as honey, tone as gentle as he remembered it—

Then he met the rest, and they took him in no questions asked, teased him about his age which was always a sore subject for him, but instead of the condescension and contempt he was used to, it was said with good-natured teasing and laughter and smiles—

Then he became one of them. As a consequence of circumstances so unexpectedly cruel, so incredibly heart-breaking after all they’d been through—

Now the laughter was few and far in between, the smiles a lot less cheerful and the general life dimmed. 

The lights were on, but no one was home.

There was still a chance to recover everything – but Jongho was limited to his capabilities, what he was able to produce from his own realm of expertise – like he was always on the outside looking in, standing in the freezing cold as he could do nothing but peer helplessly through the windows into the inside of a locked house. 

All those sleepless nights attempting endless combinations and formulas to try and find the perfect match, just to lose courage when the time came to test it out. 

Because the truth was, for all his bravery and bravado on the real world, he was utterly terrified of what was waiting for him down there. He was afraid of losing himself completely.

“I wish you would care,” was the only thing he could say, staring deep into the cold eyes before him, because if he looked deep enough past the endless layers of guards and shields blocking him out, he could see the obvious cry for help desperately screaming underneath the abyss. “Just as I care about you. About _both_ of you.”

The vial was snatched from his hands as soon as he held it out, but he didn’t miss the clammy fingers or the tremors on them. He didn’t receive thanks or any response – he wasn’t expecting any.

He watched the figure retreat just as quickly as it came, his shoulders suddenly heavy with an invisible burden.

 _Time to get back to work_ , he thought to himself, motions automated from years of repetitive movement. _Let’s try out a new formula. I’m sure this will be the right one this time._

It had to be, before he was too late again.

+++

It was a warm summer’s day, a light breeze cool and soothing as it swept past and ruffled his sweat-damped hair. He swiped one oil-stained hand through his forehead, leaving a greasy streak in its wake.

He paid little to no attention – full focus was on the wrench on his hand, lip curled in concentration and muscles quivering as he tightened the bolt.

“Jesus, you look as filthy as ever.”

He didn’t turn at the lilting, teasing remark, still focused on tightening the bolt to ensure it was fully secure. The last thing he needed was for it to loosen and accidentally kill someone. 

He swiped his greasy hand on his already oil-streaked overalls, reaching for another bolt and still studiously ignoring the newcomer. Not that it mattered, as he found the bolt he needed being tossed in the air by the man hovering over him. 

He blew out an impatient breath. “Give it back. I’m busy.”

“Pretending to be, at least,” was the impish remark he received in response, the metal bolt still being tossed up and down. Looks like work was not going to continue today, he thought to himself, finally tossing the wrench aside and rising to his feet.

“And I’ll keep doing so, unless you’re going to be nice to me today,” he said coolly, careful to keep his face blank from expression. He gauged the other’s face, analysing the familiar features – there was no hint of the angry, cruel boy who had thrown hurtful words at him last time.

Today, his face was smooth with relaxation, a small smile curling his lips like he was trying to stifle it. Today, he was back to his old self.

“Why don’t I make it up to you?” The other’s tone was suddenly syrupy and sweet; a little alien compared to their usual sarcastic statements, but he was always like this when he was feeling apologetic. He was trying to make it up to him, and like the idiot he was, he always helplessly gave in. He could never stay angry long enough.

“Let me guess – chicken?”

The warm laughter that bubbled out was his response; he couldn’t help but smile back. The other was so cheerful today – it was a nice change.

“Right you are, my little soldier,” the other stated matter-of-factly, throwing one arm around his shoulders and starting to lead him out the garage. Even if he was covered in grease, drenched in sweat and probably smelly, the other didn’t seem to care, blonde hair beaming brightly under the sunlight. “Chicken always makes everything better. Chicken is love – chicken is life.”

“Not a soldier,” he couldn’t help but correct wryly. “I’ve told you time and time again that the correct title is ‘Aerosystems Engineer’.”

He received an eye-roll for his efforts. “Aerosystem Shmaerosystem. Just because you hold a wrench instead of a gun doesn’t mean you aren’t a soldier.”

“I think your father would be the first to disagree with that,” he threw out absently before he realised what he was saying, and immediately wished he could take it back. He threw a discreet glance at the other boy, already steeling himself for the response. It could turn ugly quick, even if he did seem like he was in a great mood today.

“My father can go shove it,” was the cheerful response he got. Definitely in a good mood today – he felt his muscles relax imperceptibly, not even realising they’d gone knotted with tension. “But let’s not spoil the mood with boring talk – back to chicken. I’m telling you, chicken keeps the world functioning. Every time you eat chicken, an angel grows its wings.”

He chuckled, helplessly charmed. He’d never met someone more passionate for poultry. “You know, for a rich kid you sure love us poor people’s cuisine.”

“Hey, don’t tarnish the mighty chicken’s name like that! And don’t you think it’s great how it unites humanity towards a common love? They should use it to solve _all_ the world wars. Chicken for everyone! Chicken for president!”

He was laughing deeply now, tears escaping his eyes. It was so nice to see him like this – he’d missed this banter desperately, drinking the experience like a man quenching his thirst after a long drought. 

He wasn’t certain if the tears falling were just from his laughter anymore, or from the unshakeable sense of relief he felt from finally being able to laugh with him again.

“You’re a chicken nutcase, Yeosang,” he choked out, throwing his own arm around the other’s shoulder and knocking their foreheads together. “Come on – my treat this time.”

+++

His cheeks were damp with tears, but there was a small, peaceful smile curling his lips. Behind closed lids, his eyes were rapid with movement, before relaxing slowly; his chest rose up and down with deep and steady breaths.

San allowed himself to stroke the smooth, pale cheek, brushing the wetness away; the face was gaunt with deep exhaustion, cheekbones stark and jawline prominent underneath the skin from barely any protective layer of fat. He was wasting away, slowly but surely – and San felt powerless as he always did. Ever since that day.

He withdrew his hands, already automatically reaching for the now empty vial on the PASIV to hide the evidence – only to find it already gone.

The hairs at the back of his neck rose. He clenched his fingers slowly, digging his nails into his palms so harshly it felt like he could tear his skin open.

“How long?” His voice was whisper-soft in the silent room, interrupted only by the beeping of the heart monitor and humming of the machines, white noise in the background.

There was no response for a long time, until a soft exhale came from the shadowed corner of the room.

“Since the first time.”

Of course _he_ knew. And of course, it was since the beginning. He was always too clever for his own good, a veritable chess master in the game they called life. He always knew what move anyone would make before it even crossed their minds.

San just wished he knew, damn him, on _that_ day. For all the knowledge in the world, it didn’t save them when they needed it the most. 

San knew it was unfair, unreasonable, irrational to place the blame on someone who had just as much control as the rest of them had – barely any; which is why they ended up there in the end. 

But somehow, placing the blame on someone other than himself deluded him into thinking it could assuage even a miniscule proportion of the overwhelming guilt consuming him, eating him up on the inside at each passing day he was living this nightmare.

“Are you going to ask me to stop?”

San kept his voice frosted, defences in place and ready for battle; on the inside, his stomach tied itself up into knots, icy with fear and uncertainty and begging for someone, _anyone_ to save him.

To his surprise, the response he received was solemn. “No.” Before he could respond, the other continued, “But I want you to know that I’m here, when you’re ready to let me in. When you’re ready to let _us_ in.”

The tears had started to fall before he could stop them; he scrubbed his cheeks harshly, diverting his face so the other couldn’t see him break, couldn’t see him fall apart like this. 

The tears fell even harder when he inadvertently ended up facing the pale, motionless figure on the bed, skin so white and papery he looked like he had one foot on the grave.

Gentle arms encircled him slowly, pulling him back towards a warm chest; he attempted to put some semblance of resistance, but the hold was firm, and he was powerless to resist. He let himself weep, tears flowing silently down his cheeks as he clung desperately to the anchor holding him, the unexpected helping hand reaching out into the abyss he’d fallen into.

“I can’t bear to see you hurting yourself like this, Sannie,” the other’s voice was also cracked with emotion, cloudy with his own tears. “ _He_ would never ask for this.”

San was inconsolable at this point, breath coming out in ragged gasps. He squirmed around the other’s arms, locking his arms tight around the other’s waist and releasing muffled, shuddering sobs into his chest. He was so tired of this nightmare, so angry that he couldn’t just wake up. If this were a dream, he’d have shot himself a million times just to get away from it.

But this was the cold reality. A man lying motionless and dying in a hospital bed.

“I-It’s the only thing I can give him, hyungie,” he whispered, nearly incomprehensible between his sobs and gasps. “It’s the only thing I can offer. A-After I took _everything_ from him.”

They held each other for a long time after that, tears falling endlessly as the heart monitor continued to beep steadily, the rhythm ominous and painful.

+++

Yunho stared at the blinking blue dot on his phone, scratching his head in bafflement. He was standing right where he should be if the device on his hand could be believed – and yet the only thing in front of him was a brick wall. He shifted to one side, glass clinking inside the carrier bag he had slung over his shoulder; he raised his phone higher, despite having full bars on his network signal. Maybe a higher being could come help him out, who knew?

“Sunbaenim...?”

He startled at the soft call behind him, the voice scratchy with exhaustion and tinged with confusion.

He turned around, embarrassed. He could feel the tips of his ears burning, flustered at being caught standing like an idiot in front of a brick wall.

Just as well he found him, rather than Yunho spending the next hour trying to look for his house again.

“Hey, Mingi,” he coughed out, smiling easily as he lifted the carrier bag in offering. “Care for a drink?”

They ended up in the nearby park – the weather was on the milder side that they wouldn't turn into blocks of ice, but still chilly enough that their breaths came out in cloudy puffs.

Wordlessly, Yunho passed a bottle of soju to the other before reaching for one himself; in complete unison, they wrenched the caps open, taking one long drag in silence.

They didn’t speak for a long time, but it wasn’t awkward so much as peaceful. Yunho had a feeling small talk wasn’t much on Mingi's agenda today – the boy looked absolutely drained, skin almost grey and eyebags so dark they shadowed his cheeks. 

He looked... _haunted_ , for lack of a better word. 

“You haven’t slept, have you?” Yunho kept his voice low and tone as free of judgement as possible.

He could offer some empty words of sympathy and leave it at that, which was all well and good on paper but in reality, did very little to aid someone in desperate need of help, from his personal experience.

And Mingi looked like he could use a helping hand.

The other didn't bother wasting an obvious response to the rhetorical question, taking another long drag on the bottle before swiping his mouth with a shaky palm.

“ _Can’t_ sleep,” Mingi whispered, head ducked as if in shame. “Don’t want to dream.” He drew his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms. For guy only a few centimetres shorter than Yunho – and he was used to always being the tallest guy in the room – he looked so small, so _broken_ sitting in this foetal position, like he just wanted to curl up into himself and disappear.

At times like these, Yunho wished he was better with words. He wished he could say something inspiring like Hongjoong. Or offer some comforting words like Seonghwa. Lend a strong shoulder and give solid advice like Jongho. Crack a silly joke guaranteed to make anyone smile like San.

But none of the others were here – just him, regular old Yunho who wanted to show Mingi that the team supported him, that they were there for him in times of difficulty like this.

“You know I failed to get into architecture school three times?” The secret slipped past his lips easily; it didn’t hurt as much as it used to at the time, but his heart still ached at the long and distant memory. “I was so convinced that trying my best was going to be enough. I didn’t need to be the best – I just wanted to _do_ my best and hoped they would acknowledge that.” He snorted out a weak chuckle. “Spoiler alert – they didn’t.”

Mingi's head was still buried in his arms, but he had stopped trembling. Yunho didn’t know where he was going with this, but he hoped the boy was listening nonetheless.

“When I got picked for the dream share project, I thought this was finally my second chance,” he continued. “Call it luck, or fate, or maybe – if you believe in that sort of thing – some higher being up there decided to give me another shot. And I wanted it so badly, I could barely sleep the night before my first simulation. I was going through the details in my head over and over, nearly foaming at the mouth in my desperation to prove myself.

“And the day came, and I was in that room with Hongjoong, the brightest, most elite star KQ had ever recruited – his list of accomplishments was as long as my _arm_. And I just...shut down completely. I was so terrified that I would mess up because I was so _mediocre_ compared to this prodigy.”

Mingi had raised his head slowly somewhere in the middle of his story, and the both of them gazed unseeingly at the relatively empty park, breaths forming misty clouds.

“And I just wanted to run. I wanted to hide myself in shame. I didn’t want my _fourth_ biggest failure to be right in front of someone who had obviously been born to be the best.” He cleared his throat at the sudden lump blocking it. 

“But then...Hongjoong looked me straight in the eyes – and he's so much shorter than me that he had to really tilt his head back – and he just smiled and said, 'welcome to the team.’ And he looked so pleased to see me there, like he’d been waiting patiently for me to come for so long and I was finally there.”

Yunho heaved out a loud sigh, chest warm from the memory; he felt like a burden had just been lifted off his shoulders. He reached out a tentative hand to Mingi's shoulder, squeezing it lightly as he looked straight into the other's eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is – I know it’s tempting to run away when you feel like you’ve failed. But I want you to know that it’s never too late to try again – and we’ll always be here to help you up when you fall. Because you’re one of us now.”

Mingi ducked his head at this, but not before Yunho caught a glimpse of the other's damp eyes.

“Thank you,” was the whispered response he got, and somehow, just like that day he stood with Hongjoong for the first time, Yunho knew it was going to be okay.

That night, Mingi dreamt of a blonde boy, but instead of the sinister shadows of a nightmare, he was surrounded by more familiar faces, all smiling at him and beckoning him towards them.

“ _Come on, Mingi! Hurry up!_ ”

And for the first time in a while, Mingi slept deeply.


	5. Chapter 5

Kang Yeosang was the living embodiment of a paradox.

He was quiet and rarely spoke more than a handful of words at any given moment, and from an outsider’s point of view, he was kind of…cold and distant. He was indifferent to anyone and everyone, gaze always piercing and frosty; smooth, Adonis-like features always devoid of any expression.

Yet he was always surrounded by an adoring crowd of admirers; one would be reluctant to call them _friends_ considering Yeosang never spoke a word to them. It was always one-sided conversations, the others pushing and shoving and nearly falling over themselves to have the honour of even breathing the same air as him, eyes shiny with adoration and nearly foaming at the mouth to be near him.

But Yeosang never acknowledged any of their frankly cringe-worthy attempts at friendship – he was like a statue, frozen in time and carved out of marble.

Personally, he thought Yeosang looked _lonely_.

The boy observed the other as he entered the cafeteria – it was easy to spot him, as he was always in the middle of a thick fray of people crowing and screeching loudly. Yeosang was as emotionless as ever, motions almost on autopilot as he joined the queue for the lunch service, which immediately dispersed at the sight of him. Even the serving ladies nearly fell over themselves stacking his tray high with an unreasonable amount of food.

He accepted this grossly exaggerated treatment with barely a blink of an eye, lips firmly shut as he inclined his head in a small bow and made his way to the tables, also magically clearing as quickly as the queue as people tripped to move out of his way, like he was Moses parting the Red Sea.

He ate methodically, shoulders straight and the only indication he was even alive was his chewing mouth. Otherwise he was completely still, gaze firmly on his food even as the crowd surrounding him were loudly chattering amongst themselves.

The boy noted that he barely grazed his plate before he stood, and marched to put it away. He left just as quickly as he came, legion of fans dogging his every step, and the cafeteria falling into silence as soon as the doors swung shut in their wake.

The boy finished his now-cold bowl of soup, shrugging to himself and the strangeness that is Kang Yeosang gradually slipping his mind.

It’s only when he returns to the garage after lunch that he sees him again.

Or, more accurately, sees him _hiding_ in the cockpit of a half-repaired KAI T-50 aircraft. Or at least, he seemed like he was, seeing as he was slumped so low in the seat and only the very top of his blonde head was visible to passers-by.

“Um…” He scratched his head lightly with his wrench and coughed lightly to get the other’s attention. Yeosang jumped, clearly caught unaware. His eyes were wide with shock, surprise, _embarrassment_? 

The boy had never seen so many expressions on the other’s face before – it was such a novelty that a part of him wondered if this was the same Kang Yeosang or he’d been replaced by a doppelganger.

“This plane isn’t ready for use yet,” he begins, hesitantly. “It has a faulty wing. I’m still working on it, but I can try to speed it up if you need it.” 

He didn’t bother mentioning there were four other perfectly-fine KAI T-50s sitting in the exact garage they were in, but this was Kang Yeosang – who knew how his mind worked.

“No, um…” Yeosang mumbled, still looking abashed. The boy was still quietly amazed that the other was actually capable of making such expressions. “I was just—I was just resting. Here. For a little while.”

Yeosang looked up to meet his gaze, and his eyes were imploring. “Just to—just to get away for a bit. I wasn’t planning to take it out. S-So you can take your time with it. If that’s okay…?”

He’d probably spoken more words in the last few seconds than the boy had ever heard from him in the last few months since he first encountered Yeosang. His voice was surprisingly deep, a little out of place on such delicate features.

He couldn’t help but smile at the blush colouring Yeosang’s cheeks. He was so…human, like this – a completely different version of the marble statue that walked the halls of the base.

“I mean…if you don’t mind me tinkering around, be my guest,” the boy simply said, jumping down from the ladder he’d been standing on and landing on the ground easily. He looked up to see Yeosang peering over the side of the cockpit down at him, and he looked kind of adorable with just his eyes and his blonde head visible.

He considered for a moment before he rummaged into his overalls for the apple he’d stolen from the cafeteria to have as a snack. He held it up in offering and tossed it up in the air – Yeosang caught it easily, the question in his eyes obvious.

“For you – thought you might still be hungry.” At that, he rolled his sleeves up and started to get to work, humming as he went.

It was a long while before the soft voice in the cockpit spoke again.

“What’s your name?”

He was in the middle of loosening some screws when the question reached his ears, covered in grease and fringe already sticking to his forehead with sweat.

He leaned back and looked up to find Yeosang peering down at him again. They couldn’t have looked more worlds apart – the prince with his bright blonde hair and spotless pilot uniform, and the pauper with his greasy overalls and oil-slicked hands.

But in this quiet garage, where their only other company were aircrafts and mechanical parts, they were just two boys.

“Wooyoung,” the boy finally speaks, grinning easily even as a droplet of oil glides down his jawline. “Jung Wooyoung.”

+++

Mingi didn’t know what to expect when the day finally came for his return to the headquarters.

He took a deep, calming breath, bracing himself before he swung the door open tentatively, peeking inside.

The room that greeted him was empty – the usual occupied workstations were devoid of their owners, Jongho’s usual bubbling beakers still and calm in the silence. Mingi checked his watch in confusion, even though he knew the time was exactly 07:48, as it had been the last time he checked it just before he opened the doors.

Just before he could take another step, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden hand touching his shoulder. He whirled around, body tense at the soundless approach.

San stood behind him, arms up in a universal gesture of surrender. “Relax. It’s just me.”

Mingi forced his wildly palpitating heart to calm down. “O-Oh. Didn’t hear you at all.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not really knowing what to say or how to approach this conversation.

He wasn’t certain if the other was still angry from the other day’s fiasco; San’s expression was inscrutable. He didn’t look fiery with rage, but he didn’t have his usual impish look either.

“I told the others that I wanted to get a chance to speak to you privately,” San spoke after a short silence, serious but not sombre. He straightened his shoulders to full height, chest puffing out as he looked Mingi straight in the eyes. “I want to apologise for what happened. I didn’t know it would cause that effect on you, and in hindsight I shouldn’t have done it to begin with. Had I known, please believe that I definitely would have made a different choice. But since you’ve suffered as a result of my actions, for that I’m truly sorry.”

His wording was extremely vague, which hinted of very careful concealment of any concrete details, but it didn’t sound regurgitated or rehearsed like he’d been fed lines by someone else. 

Regardless, his whole countenance showed his sincerity, and Mingi felt his heart warm and the awkwardness ease.

He gave the other a brave smile. “It’s okay, San. I accept your apology, and I’m grateful for it. For what it’s worth, I’m also sorry for letting you guys down.” Mingi chuckled weakly, scratching the back of his neck again. “And for shooting you. Twice.”

For a moment, the other’s eyes seemed shiny with tears, but the familiar dimples revealed themselves again as San returned his smile.

“Guess that makes us even, then.”

They stood there smiling softly at each other when San suddenly raised a fist, hovering it expectantly before Mingi.

“Friends?”

The warmth in Mingi’s chest grew. He raised his own fist, tapping it on the other’s lightly.

“Friends.”

+++

“I think it’s fair to say that we all learned a few valuable lessons from this experience.”

Hongjoong paced the floor in front of the whiteboard back and forth, hands clasped behind his straight, rigid back and the sound of his boots the only noise breaking the silence in the room.

He stopped and turned to the room in one fluid motion, sweeping a cursory glance at all the faces seated before him. The faces that stared back were a mixture of impassive, curious, and a tinge of embarrassed.

“I won’t bother naming names as I’ve had separate discussions with each and every single one of you,” he continued, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You should all be aware of the errors you’ve made that led to the outcome, and I have no interest in calling you out in front of the rest like a teacher in a kindergarten. 

“We’re all grown adults and I expect you all to acknowledge your shortcomings with the objective of improving them.” He tapped his arm lightly. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” was the chorus he received.

He nodded shortly. “Now that’s out of the way, I’d like to discuss the new assignment as it’s a bit more complex this time around.” He started handing out the files, waiting for a few moments as all the heads bowed and started perusing the documents. 

“I won’t bother mincing words; after the aforementioned incident, we are currently in hot water and this new assignment is a testament to that. We are being _tested_ , and I have assured the necessary relevant people that we will not fail this time.”

At the terse nods he received, he continued, “We need all hands on deck for this assignment. The target is a former spy for the intelligence service who went AWOL a few weeks ago after the base lost all contact with him. His last known whereabouts have just been confirmed, and he’s thought to be currently seeking refuge with the Chinese in Shanghai.”

Hongjoong pasted a blurry image of a man in a black hooded jacket, black mask over his nose and mouth on the whiteboard, followed by a black and white printout of his passport photo. “Agent Lee had been tasked to infiltrate the triad prior to his sudden disappearance. Prior to this, he was posted in North Korea for the last two years, and the intelligence service believes he is acting as a liaison between the two countries and selling state secrets to the highest bidder.

“Due to the highly sensitive nature of this case and the information we need to gather, KQ has specified that only personnel with a certain clearance level can deal directly with the target once we reach the data collection stage. For this reason, I will be handling the extraction for this assignment.” 

He paused. “In addition, as are the standard requirements for any other agents on the ground, Agent Lee is highly trained in dream sharing.”

Hongjoong straightened his shoulders even more, back rigid with tension. “Which means a standard, one level dream will not be sufficient for this assignment. We need to go deeper.”

The faces in the room turned grave, the general atmosphere growing grim. Mingi glanced at the sudden ashen faces around him in confusion, raising a tentative hand.

“W-What do you mean, sir?”

“What it means, kid, is a dream within a dream,” San’s tone was ominous.

Mingi was even more confused. “B-But that’s impossible. It would be too unstable.”

“Nothing is impossible in dream sharing,” Jongho spoke this time, and his features were aloof but Mingi didn’t miss the way his hands shook as he gripped the file tightly. “You can go as deep as you need – and with each further level, the time is compounded to two, three, four times as the top level. Stability is guaranteed if you have the right blend of sedatives.”

“For this assignment, we’ll go with two levels,” Hongjoong continued before Mingi could ask more, diverting everyone’s attention back to him. “The first level needs as much stability as possible, so Seonghwa will be the dreamer. Yunho, you’ll be supporting him while San forges Agent Lee’s old partner to take him down to the second level.”

Hongjoong turned to Mingi. “That’s where you and I come in. You will be my support while I do the extraction. However, this means someone needs to protect San from the projections while he distracts the target.”

All eyes turned to Jongho, who had turned white as a sheet. 

Hongjoong’s expression betrayed his pity, but his voice was firm and brooked no argument.

“Which means, you, Jongho, will need to come into the dream with us.”

+++

Hongjoong heaved a deep sigh, exhaustion weighing him down so heavily after the assignment briefing that he felt it in his very bones.

He’d left the team to stew and work on their individual tasks for the rest of the day, and Jongho had wasted no time in rushing out under the guise of ‘research’. Nobody tried to stop him, and from the look on his face similar to a man who had just been given a death sentence, they didn’t dare to.

“I’ll have a word with him later.” 

Hongjoong cracked his eyes open, glancing with heavy lids at the man sitting across him who was calmly sipping from a teacup, posture proper as it always was and emanating a solemn and soothing aura. He always knew what Hongjoong was thinking – he never needed to spell it out.

Seonghwa never needed prompting to take the initiative to look after the team – he just did it, no questions asked. Not for the first time has Hongjoong wondered if _he_ was more suited to lead the team; the others clearly trusted him without reserve, looked up to him as a dependable figure, and Seonghwa always knew the right words to say or the right actions to take to cater to each individual member's needs.

Hongjoong had no doubt that he himself was highly gifted in numerous areas – however, he'd be the first to admit he was a little bit awkward when it came to team engagement. Sure, he could offer some choice, robust words to inspire the others, but he never had enough time on his hands to really sit with them one by one and get to know them on a more _intimate_ level beyond the surface layer of their professional relationships. 

He knew he cared about them more than just a leader cared about his subordinates; but he wondered if they knew it, too.

“You’re good with the kids,” he said softly, not breaking his eye contact with the man across him. He never referred to them as _kids_ in front of them lest they find it patronising, but when it was just him and Seonghwa, he didn’t feel the need to have to justify or explain himself. “A lot better than I am.”

Seonghwa’s smile was gentle, but not patronising. “Your role is to lead them. My job is to support you, and them.” His smile took on a teasing note. “And anyway, I like playing the good cop to your bad cop. Keeps me their favourite hyung.”

Hongjoong could have responded with something equally cheeky – normally he would have, and Seonghwa was likely expecting him to respond as such.

“Why are you doing this?” was what came out instead, blurted out completely involuntarily before he could stifle it. Seonghwa's eyes widened, and for a split second he looked flustered; a look Hongjoong had never seen on him before.

It left as quickly as it came, and the plains of Seonghwa's features were merely politely inquisitive as he tilted his head questioningly. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong cleared his throat, suddenly unable to meet the other's eyes. “Why are you so... _you_? I mean...” Seonghwa was looking amused now, and Hongjoong felt the flush of embarrassment rising up his cheeks. “You never ask for more. You just...dedicate so much time and effort on us,” _On me_ , was the unspoken, hidden statement. “I just wonder what's in it for you. If we’re worth your effort.” 

Seonghwa looked contemplative at that, considering the words carefully like he was gauging if there were any hidden messages in Hongjoong's rambling. 

He hadn’t finished embarrassing himself, however, when he kept going, “You’re obviously a man of many talents. You’re smart and clever and you have such a vast network of connections who can open all sorts of doors for you. Why us?” _Why me?_

“Because we’re a team,” was the simple response he received after a long pause. Seonghwa’s expression was open, genuine, like he had no doubts about the sincerity of his statement. “And you’re you. Since the day I chose to follow you, not once have I regretted my decision.”

_Rivers of crimson. Down to two bullets. Despair on his team's faces. Only one way out, past a hailstorm of gunfire._

_Don’t give up, he was yelling at them even as his insides tore itself apart with nerves. We can still make it._

_Deep down he knew they won’t, but he’ll be damned if he gave up without trying._

_Then...he appeared like an angel sent by some higher being, the back of his head illuminated like a halo against the scorching sun._

_Hongjoong had never been a particularly religious man, but just at that moment, he felt like his prayers had been answered._

_“Captain Kim,” the stranger had thrown Hongjoong a pack of bullets. “Lead the way. I’ll watch your back.”_

They made it out that day, all in one piece with the support of the silent saviour. They were hailed as heroes, awarded with medals of valour and promotions handed out lavishly, but Hongjoong knew the bitter, unspoken truth – that his team had already been left for dead, the chain of command unwilling to sacrifice their own men to save their own. 

That their very lives had been sold, like sacks of rice, to whoever was willing to risk it for the right price.

_Mercenary_ , they called him. 

It was only months later that Hongjoong crossed paths with him again, this time with their roles reversed, as Hongjoong cleared the path leading into the room where he had been trapped. The mercenary had been waiting for death, deserted by his own team of easily-bought loyalties – he’d looked contemplative and resigned to his fate, and clearly not expecting to be saved.

_Don’t give up_ , Hongjoong had said that day, dragging him out and returning the favour. 

A life for a life.

And it was years later, when the time came to officially launch the dream share unit, and they had the core manpower but no support role to be their eyes and ears on the ground, and KQ had given him the choice.

There had been only one person on his mind.

He hadn’t been easy to find – and it was that day that Hongjoong finally learned his name, despite escaping death twice with him.

_You need someone to watch your back_ , he’d said at Hongjoong's offer. _So you can keep facing forward._

And maybe it had been madness, entrusting someone whose only loyalty was to money to watch your back. To ask someone to blatantly contradict their very credo of servicing no man but himself – and asking them to pledge their loyalty to you.

_That someone is you, Park Seonghwa._

Maybe it was the utter shamelessness of the request, or he’d caught him off guard. Or maybe it was the way he’d looked him dead in the eyes that day he was staring death in the face, and told him not to give up.

Whatever it was, their intertwined fates were sealed.

_Lead the way, Captain Kim._

+++

Wooyoung was running down a corridor.

He didn’t know if he was running towards something, or if he was running away from something. But he kept going, lungs burning in agony, gasping for every breath as his feet pounded the concrete.

There was a set of doors at the end, and he burst through them, unable to cease his momentum.

Half-repaired planes. Mechanical scraps. His toolbox, his trusty wrench, screwdriver, hacksaw...

A man standing in the middle of the familiar setting, hands slipped into his pockets, hair the colour of gold and smiling at him.

_“There you are.”_

Nearly shaking with relief, he stumbled towards him, but just before he could reach him the landscape turned blurry, changing rapidly in a kaleidoscope of colours that nearly blinded him.

He blinked dazedly, vision refocusing to a completely new room, this one also familiar – 3D models, a life-sized cardboard version of Mt Fuji, post-its and to-do lists, test tubes and beakers filled with varying degrees of yellow fluid...

A silver briefcase in the middle of the room – seven stretchers...

The same golden-haired man standing a few feet away from him again, smile no longer on his lips, looking a lot more solemn and sombre.

_“It’s not here.”_

“ _What_ isn’t?” he choked out, reaching out again, but again he was blinded by another evolution in the room, blocking his eyes from the flashing of colours.

It was a long time before he could re-open his eyes. Wasn’t certain if he wanted to.

The room was no longer familiar – just a barren, empty expanse of _nothingness_ – a dark abyss with no beginning or end.

The boy with sunlight hair stood in front of him, and this time he looked angry.

_“How dare you face me? After you left me behind?”_

Each word was like a dagger in his heart, spat out in acidic tones that scorched and burned him.

“I didn’t want to,” Wooyoung sobbed helplessly, slumping to his knees and struggling to see past his tears. “I had no choice.”

The boy was merciless, lip curled in derision and looking down at him like he was dirt beneath his shoe.

_“You were a coward. Pathetic. Just like my father said.”_

Wooyoung wept even harder, his heart wrenching with unspeakable pain. “I had no choice,” he choked out. “I wanted to save you. Please, you have to believe me.”

_“It was your fault. You did this to me.”_

Wooyoung's chest constricted so painfully he doubled over in agony, his harsh cries echoing into the abyss.

Because he was right. It was his fault. He did this to him.

“Please, please,” he begged. “If I could go back in time to undo my mistake, I'd do it a thousand times. Please.”

There was silence for a long time, the only sound his choked sobs and gasps.

All of a sudden, hands were cupping his arms, helping him sit up.

The boy's face was suddenly so close, Wooyoung could see the rose-coloured birth mark at the corner of his eye.

“Then come and find me, Wooyoung-ah.” His tone was suddenly gentle, his smile wrought with pain but with an underlying tone of pleading. “Open your eyes.”

Wooyoung grasped the other's cheeks desperately, opening his eyes wide as if demonstrating that they already were.

“T-They are, Yeosang. They are,” he insisted.

Yeosang's hands cupped his own – the palms and fingertips were as cold as ice. 

Yeosang's smile was patient even as he shook his head slowly.

“Open your eyes, Wooyoung-ah. I’ll be waiting.”

Slowly, Yeosang brought their foreheads together, closing his eyes, the same gentle smile never leaving his lips.

_“Open your eyes.”_

The loud, rapid beeping filtered slowly into his consciousness, blurry shapes slowly sharpening to reveal a tiled ceiling. His head was pounding like a rhythmic drum, his heartbeat roaring in his ears, his mouth dry and ashy.

“—llo? Hello? Jung Wooyoung-ssi? Can you hear me? Wooyoung-ssi?”

He could barely turn his head, but he could see a man in a white coat speaking to him, or at least he thought he was since his mouth was moving soundlessly, only half the words reaching his ears.

“Jung Wooyoung-ssi, my name is Doctor Nam, you’re in a hospital,” the man was saying. “ _Nurse Jang! Inform Mr Kim immediately!_ ”

And as more and more personnel rushed into the room, Wooyoung stared blankly at the ceiling, thoughts completely disorientated as a voice whispered the same sentence over and over in his mind.

_Open your eyes._


	6. Chapter 6

Seonghwa tracked him down easily – he was a creature of habit, a stickler for an established routine that he wouldn’t bother changing if it worked perfectly fine. ‘If it ain’t broke, why fix it’ defined him to a T.

Despite that, Seonghwa wasn’t sure what awaited him when he finally found him, but it definitely wasn’t the sight of him mid-fistfight with a fellow bar patron, nose already dripping with blood and jacket ripped at the shoulder seam as if someone had grabbed it and yanked hard.

The rest of the patrons were all huddled a few feet away and staring idiotically at the grappling men, the bartender flapping his hands uselessly as if it would have any effect in appeasing the two.

_Civilians_ , Seonghwa thought with no small amount of derision, rolling his eyes.

So he did the quickest method to get everyone’s attention – simultaneously, without even having to open his mouth and wasting his breath.

He took out his gun and fired a shot.

As expected, it had the intended effect. People were like sheep – endlessly predictable, Seonghwa thought to himself, stepping aside nimbly as the cacophony of screams and breaking glass filled his ears, the bar patrons tripping over themselves to rush towards the exit, which incidentally was behind him.

Soon, it was down to three people, which was still one too many.

“W-Who the fuck are you? I-I’m not afraid of—”

This is why Seonghwa rarely touched alcohol. It made people regress to their most primitive state – if one was already an idiot while sober, what does that make them once intoxicated?

The drunken idiot’s earlobe was missing a chunk before he could finish his sentence, and Seonghwa had barely finished lowering his gun when the other took the hint, leaving behind an unmistakable trail of urine in his wake.

Seonghwa sighed. _Civilians_.

“I had it handled,” was the brusque remark he received as gratitude for his intervention. Seonghwa was already whipping out a handkerchief from his inside pocket, briskly wiping the other’s nose with it and staining it irreversibly. _This is Hermès silk_ , he thought in the back of his mind, but what’s a few thousand wasted for a friend in need?

“Stay still,” he ordered lightly, wiping away the blood as gently as he could; from the bruise already forming, he was pretty sure the other’s nose was broken.

Even intoxicated, Jongho had enough presence of mind to stay still under Seonghwa’s ministrations, even as his eyes still simmered with anger. But he knew better than to act out in such close quarters with Seonghwa – he was drunk, not suicidal.

Finally, Seonghwa must have been satisfied because he drew back and began surveying the destroyed bar around them with one elegantly raised brow. “Interesting place to do research.”

Jongho had made his way to the liquor display in the meantime, half to put distance between them and half in the hunt for some more tipple. His last sip had been rudely interrupted when his glass had been knocked off his hands by that drunken asshole.

He located the expensive make of whiskey hiding in the back, but before he could reach for it the glass shattered and sprayed him with wasted liquor.

“Could you stop goddamn shooting,” he yelled out as his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. It seemed the other was determined to sober him up through any means necessary.

“Sit,” Seonghwa ordered, sliding into one of the bar stools even as his lip curled in disgust at the state of the place.

Jongho didn’t bother pushing his luck, plodding over silently and slumping down the seat next to him. He just wanted a damn drink, was that too much to ask?

“You can’t keep bottling it up like this, pun intended,” Seonghwa spoke after a short silence, chin resting on his steepled fingers, elbows resting on the bar. “You can’t keep pretending you’re fine, then going and drowning yourself in here.”

“Didn’t know I had to report to you even outside of work,” Jongho responded bitterly, because he always responded negatively when he was confronted, even if it was done out of concern. Maybe it was the lingering intoxication that gave him the courage, or the fact that Seonghwa had finally put his damn gun away.

“I’m not saying this as your superior, I’m saying this as your hyung,” Seonghwa said quietly, brushing aside the sarcastic response and choosing not to address it. 

Because deep down he knew what Jongho didn't want to say, what Jongho really felt.

He was just a frightened little boy, just like that day Seonghwa had saved him from bullies in a deserted playground. A kid covered in black and blue bruises, one eye already swollen shut but fists still swinging madly, like he’d be damned if he’d give up before giving it his all. If he went down, he’d go down fighting to his last breath.

Even at a young age, Seonghwa rarely felt the need to concern himself with other people’s affairs, unless there was something in it for him – but there was something about that little boy, the fire raging in his eyes, the conviction in every swing he took, the utter thirst to keep fighting even when the odds were so clearly stacked against him.

The same fire he saw years later, in that desert, looking down at the eyes of Captain Kim Hongjoong.

In many respects, he saw plenty of parallels between the two – but Choi Jongho wasn’t battle-hardened like Kim Hongjoong. For all his strength training and muscles, he could clearly hold his own, but ultimately he was just a normal person, not built for this life like the rest of them were.

A civilian.

That Seonghwa had dragged into the battlefield. Stolen him from a promising career through one simple phone call.

Because Seonghwa had seen the signs, he’d observed the arguments, he’d predicted the inevitable fallout that had led to the bitter conclusion of that day. And he didn’t have time to waste learning the technicalities himself, he needed someone who already had the necessary know-how to jump in and give him an informed opinion, give him solid reasoning and logical insight.

Someone from his vast network of connections that he knew trusted him implicitly, and wouldn’t ask unnecessary questions.

And Jongho had delivered. Solid, dependable Jongho, stepping in and being the voice of reason, giving them scientific evidence as to why this formula was dangerous, and this blend of compounds was tempting fate. Do not proceed. Danger ahead.

But despite all their warnings, all of their cautioning – they still couldn’t prevent what happened. Seonghwa wondered if it had been inevitable. Not an if, but when. 

And he wondered when the guilt would ever go away.

“I know you’re working on something,” he said softly, meeting Jongho's eyes dead on. “The right formula. To go...deep enough. And I know you’re afraid of testing it.” He knew the moment he hit the mark as Jongho's eyes widened.

He drew a deep breath. Maybe this was his penance. Maybe this was his way of seeking forgiveness. 

From the one he’d dragged into this nightmare – Jongho. The ones he’d failed – the rest of the team.

And most of all, the one they’d left behind.

“I’ll do it. I'll go under and see how it deep it goes.”

+++

The next time Wooyoung awoke, the room was devoid of hospital staff, the only sound in the room the low hum of the machinery. The television was on, sound muted and playing a daytime talk show, the audience mid-laughter at whatever the host was saying.

He turned his head, squinting and temporarily blinded by the bright sunshine streaming through the drawn curtains. As his vision cleared, he finally noticed a man sitting on the visitor's chair in front of the windows, regarding him silently.

He couldn’t help the groan that bubbled out of his parched lips. “Am I in hell? That you, Lucifer?” His throat was dry as the Sahara, but he’d be damned if that would prevent him from delivering his punch line. “Can I just say, the human form you chose is surprisingly accurate.”

The man snorted dryly. “I see your sarcastic tongue recovered faster than the rest of you.” He rose from his seat, making his way closer to the bed with his hands slipped in his pockets.

Wooyoung studied him for a moment, trying to gauge what he was thinking. When the other said nothing for a long moment, he decided to go first. He’d always been impatient by nature – being in a hospital bed wasn’t going to change that. “If you’re here to yell at me, please don’t. I already feel like shit, if that helps.”

He received an exasperated eye-roll. “Why does everyone automatically assume I’m here to tell them off? Maybe I just wanted to visit an old friend. Because I _care_.”

Wooyoung returned that with a snort of his own, even if the gesture made his lungs ache something fierce. “Nice try, Hongjoong-hyung. You're like, our constantly disappointed father. The boring dad.”

“Wow, I came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now,” Hongjoong murmured, even as he looked amused despite himself. “I can see you’re already feeling better, so thankfully I’ve brought someone else along that you’re hopefully happier to see.”

Wooyoung turned his head curiously at the soft knock on the door, smiling instantly at the sight of the newcomer.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” A bouquet of flowers was placed on his bedside, a gentle palm reaching forward to stroke his forehead then cheek; Wooyoung leaned into the touch greedily, feeling his heart swell with warmth. “Did Hongjoong’s kiss wake you?”

Wooyoung shuddered at that. “Please don't make me vomit, I am very vulnerable right now,” he begged. “And even if it did, don’t worry – he only has eyes for you, hyungie. I’m just a side hoe,” he couldn’t help but add cheekily – he may be feeling like shit but he never missed an opportunity to be a brat. Especially to Seonghwa.

Said man let out a surprised cough, clearly trying to cover up how flustered he got from the statement. 

“You _are_ feeling better, I see,” Seonghwa stated dryly, still stroking Wooyoung's cheek ever so gently. The caresses were making him feel sleepy, the warm sunlight and the tender attention from both men making him feel all drowsy and woozy. Or maybe it was the meds they were pumping into his system. Maybe both.

He knew both had many questions, loud and obvious even if currently unspoken, but he wasn’t quite ready to start talking yet.

“The others?” he mumbled sleepily, partly to divert their attention and partly because he genuinely wanted to know.

“They’ll come another time,” Hongjoong was saying, but he sounded so far away, like Wooyoung was underwater. 

He felt like he was floating, adrift – it made his muscles ache in agony, but he lifted one hand to cling weakly onto the hand on his cheek, and lifted the other in the air in a silent gesture.

A strong hand gripped his immediately.

“Glad you’re here,” he murmured, squeezing both hands holding his, slowly drifting off again.

The next time he opened his eyes, he had a face inches from his own – he yelped, immediately groaning loudly afterwards at his lungs protesting.

“Damn, it actually worked. Lucky bastard.” Money was passing hands while Wooyoung lay there in agony, and he was rightfully offended.

“Seriously? Right in front of my salad?” he said sourly, and the new visitors grinned shamelessly at him, not even remotely embarrassed at having cruelly used him for monetary gain.

“We did say hello, but you were drugged up on morphine,” Jongho stated cheerfully for someone who was a few notes poorer; Wooyoung noted his bruised nose with narrowed eyes.

“What the heck happened to your face?”

Yunho was immediately shaking his head imperceptibly, and Jongho succinctly stated, “Walked into a lamppost,” before promptly climbing into the bed and promptly squashing Wooyoung's foot. Yunho did the same on the other side, also on his other foot.

Even under the influence of morphine Wooyoung wasn’t drugged up enough to know there was clearly something more to that, but wouldn’t it be the ultimate irony if he forced them to admit it, considering he was hiding more than a few things himself?

So he glared at both of them instead. “Is it too late to swap back to Seonghwa-hyung? I’d even take Hongjoong-hyung back over the both of you.”

“Wow, you didn’t have to go in that hard,” Yunho choked out, mock-offended. “After we took the time out of our busy lives to come and see you.”

“The level of disrespect,” Jongho was echoing gravely.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “It’s _Sunday_. You’re both off. I’m in a hospital, not stupid.”

Jongho hummed out an incredulous noise. “I dunno, hyung, the survey's still out on that one.”

Wooyoung would smack him if he had the energy, but since he didn’t, he diverted his attention elsewhere; namely, at scanning the room for any other visitors.

But the room was empty, apart from the two. He felt his stomach clench painfully.

“Sannie?” he asked quietly, interrupting the two mid-conversation. A quick look was exchanged and a long pause followed, like neither were certain of what they should say, or if they should say anything.

“He didn't...he didn’t want to come,” Yunho finally spoke after a while, deciding to go with honesty even if he looked uncomfortable saying it.

Wooyoung's heart dropped, mouth tasting like ash. 

Maybe he was too late. He couldn’t blame him; he’d probably messed it up irreparably with the hurtful words he’d hurled at him the last time they saw each other.

Reality was starting to suck already.

“But,” Jongho suddenly piped up before he could wallow deeper into his misery, holding up a familiar stuffed toy like a peace offering. “He asked us to give you this. To keep you company.”

Wooyoung grasped it gently, the familiar features of the Shiba Inu and the soft texture of its cloth warming him both outside, and in. 

_He never sleeps without it_ , he thought to himself, burying his face in the soft, pillowy stomach, breathing in the recognisable scent, understanding the simple message it symbolised.

His tears dampened the cloth in seconds, but he was smiling through the tears.

+++

“I heard Jung Wooyoung has recovered.”

Hongjoong’s hand paused very briefly from where it had been in the process of lowering a cup of tea on the table; he let the motion continue smoothly, not betraying his sudden nerves, setting the cup down with a decisive clink.

Hongjoong waited until he was settled on the sofa across the other before he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “He is in a stable condition, but the doctors have advised he stay for another few weeks.” 

_Recovered_ was a massive overstatement considering Wooyoung was barely skin and bones.

“He’ll have to manage in a fortnight. He needs to be added to the roster for the next assignment.”

Hongjoong’s hackles rose. “Sir—”

But the other man wasn’t finished. “After the circumstances that caused Song Mingi's recent failure, I don’t think you need me to reiterate how important it is that this new assignment is a success.” Every word was stated in precise, succinct breaths that brooked no room for argument. “Every man on the team must be experienced. There is no room for _tourists_ on this job.”

“Sir, Jongho has clocked in more than the standard required hours,” Hongjoong pleaded, beginning to feel helpless; a sinking, swirling feeling in his gut of the ball about to drop. “And Wooyoung is hardly in the adequate condition to be thrown into the field—”

“This is an _order_ , Hongjoong. Not a request.” Eden looked him dead in the eyes, expression the darkest and grimmest its ever been since the day Hongjoong had had to get on his knees, begging his mentor to save him, to save _them_.

Hongjoong could no longer control the utter anguish and powerlessness consuming his very being – his every emotion was visible on his face. 

“ _Hyung_ ,” he choked out, ready to grovel if he had to. Pride no longer held any importance in the face of desperation.

Eden’s entire countenance was a churning mixture of pity, torment and conviction, the warring emotions a window to his own distress.

“Hongjoong, I told you my hands were tied,” Eden spoke after a long time, his voice low as a whisper as if he was afraid anyone else could hear them in this silent, empty office. “I have tried to shield you for as long as I can, but even my protection has limitations. A much _higher_ chain of command has stepped in.” 

He paused, as if carefully considering his next words. “Given the circumstances, disbandment would have been the automatic option, but with the unit’s established reputation KQ wouldn’t have survived the inevitable fallout. So we’re left with the only other option.”

He looked a lot less austere, but instead his expression had shifted to bleak. “This assignment is not just a simple test. The outcome of it will be the final and decisive factor for the future of this unit.”

Hongjoong’s heart swooped down to his feet. “What do you mean?”

Eden’s whole frame was rigid, as if he were bracing himself for what he was about to say next. 

“Song Mingi was brought in not as your apprentice, but as your replacement. Park Seonghwa will take over as the head of the unit. Jung Yunho’s time will be divided between providing his services to the team, and heading the KQ expansion to Japan. Choi San will be second-in-command and will complete the current roster.”

Each word was like a dagger into Hongjoong’s numb heart, but Eden wasn’t finished. 

“Yuhan Pharmaceutical has given the green signal for Choi Jongho’s return. We will open evaluations for a replacement chemist from the cadets. As for Jung Wooyoung…” 

Eden paused, as if the words were too heavy to voice out. 

“Jung Wooyoung will be terminated from the organisation with immediate effect.”

There was a heavy, stifling silence for a long time. Hongjoong couldn’t see or hear past the roaring in his ears, couldn’t move his limbs which had frozen in shock.

“And finally, you, Hongjoong,” Eden finally broke the silence, tone heavy with resignation. “Will be promoted to head of Public Relations, and will be the face of KQ. Your new role will be promoting the organisation to potential investors.”

_Promoting. Like some kind of show pony._

“And if we fail?” Hongjoong could barely force the words out of his numb lips.

“Then the entire team will be disbanded. And Jung Wooyoung will be handed over to the military police.” 

Eden didn’t miss a beat, as if he knew the question had already been at the forefront of Hongjoong’s mind. 

“You will be the only exception – as the best, most well-known asset of the company, your dismissal would destroy KQ’s reputation irreversibly.”

_But the others were expendable. Like pawns being tossed aside once they were no longer needed._

“Why are they doing this?” Hongjoong was beyond despair – he couldn’t care less if he didn’t filter his words. He just wanted to know why his entire world was crumbling at his feet. “ _Why?_ After everything we’ve done?” _After I’ve dedicated my life and soul to this organisation._

“Because of what you _didn’t_ do.” Eden’s quiet statement was like the crack of a whip.

_He’s dying, hyung, what do we do?_

_Just stay calm! We need to ease his agony, stand back, I’ll do it—_

_No! H-Hyung, you can’t! Y-You can’t shoot!_

_What do you mean? He’s in pain, we need to wake him up!_

_H-He won’t wake up—he won’t…_

_If we die in a dream, we wake up! What do you mean he won’t?_

_I-I-I’m sorry—hyung, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know this would happen—_

_Jesus Christ, what did you do? What have you done?_

_Hyung—I didn’t know—I didn’t know!_

Wheezing, gasping breaths on bloodied lips. The light in his eyes slowly fading. His golden hair stained with crimson.

The timer running out. A cacophony of screams. The dream collapsing.

Only five pairs of eyes re-opening.

One man left behind, still trapped.

“Because right now, the only son of a 3-Star Air Force General is in a vegetative state.” 

Eden’s final words were like the gong of a funeral toll, echoing hauntingly. 

“And your team put him there.”


	7. Chapter 7

“ _Dream_ sharing? The fuck? Are you drunk? Are you pulling my leg? Both?”

Yeosang let the accusations wash over him, snorting dryly.

“Trust me, your scepticism is _mild_ compared to mine.” He kept his easy pace down the corridors, ignoring the house staff bowing subserviently as he passed. 

He finally reached the end of the corridor and stopped just before a door, giving the uniformed guard standing next to it a glacial look.

“Make sure we’re undisturbed.” He didn’t bother waiting to check if his request was acknowledged, swinging the door open and pushing the boy behind him forward into the room, before letting the door swing shut and locking it. 

It was a pointless exercise, as a puny barrier like a locked door had never been enough to protect him from unwanted visitors, but he liked to believe it was the principle of it rather than any sort of guarantee.

“Jesus, every time I come here it’s as welcoming as a mausoleum,” Wooyoung was saying, looking completely out of place standing in the middle of the exaggeratedly massive bedroom that was way too much space for one person, in his ripped jeans and ratty converses and non-designer black t-shirt.

Yet somehow, it was only really when he occupied the space that Yeosang could tolerate the utter coldness of it, like his presence was enough to breathe some life into this normally bleak environment.

Wooyoung was like the sun – hot and fiery and full of energy, his very aura emanating like heatwaves and burning anyone that was in his vicinity. He was vivacious and effervescent in all aspects of his life, overflowing with charm and charisma that it was hard not to get swept by the tide of his presence.

The complete opposite of Yeosang. Yin and Yang. North and South. In many ways, he wondered how or why they got along so well when they were such paradoxes of each other.

Not for the first time has he wondered – deep in the recesses of his mind, hidden away in a locked box that he refused to open – if Wooyoung tolerated him because of _who_ he was, and therefore which doors he could open for him, what treasures he’d uncover once he'd wormed his way into Yeosang's psyche.

But after months of tentative friendship – putting cautious feelers out, trying to establish any hidden agendas or subliminal intentions before he got himself in too deep – he’d gathered enough conclusive evidence to decide that Wooyoung really didn’t need or want anything other than what he wanted face value.

He wanted to be his friend.

And admittedly, Yeosang had rarely – if ever – progressed to this stage with any other person, and felt quite adrift as to what one exactly did with a _friend_. Was it discuss what their respective families could contribute to each other, similar to how alliances were formed?

But Wooyoung was an orphan, and had been raised in the foster system until he emancipated at eighteen, joining the air force on his birthday. So he had nothing to bring to the table in that regard.

In contrast, Yeosang had a long list of family accomplishments that would guarantee anyone who was in their favour a place in high society. And plenty had no qualms about attaching their tentacles to Yeosang, purely to use him as a proxy to try and curry favour to who they were really after.

“What’s this?” The curious inquiry interrupted his rambling thoughts, and he forced himself back in the present as Wooyoung jumped onto his bed, the action making the nondescript silver briefcase on the mattress bounce lightly.

Yeosang walked over and settled himself on the other side of the bed next to it. “Remember my birthday last week?”

Wooyoung snorted. “You mean the one I was barred from attending?” He didn’t sound offended so much as wryly amused.

“You didn’t miss much,” Yeosang assured dismissively, preferring not to dwell on it. “More importantly, I was requested to provide a list of what I would like, and I simply wrote 'to be anywhere but here'”.

“Wow. A bit depressing, isn’t it?”

He ignored the remark and carried on a little impatiently, “Anyway, it seemed they took my advice as open for interpretation and set up an introductory session for a ‘dream sharing experience'. This device is called a PASIV – it was developed by NATO as a military training tool, but I guess some rich people got their hands on it and saw the leisure potential it could provide.” 

He popped the briefcase open, revealing the mechanical controls, IV lines and several vials of yellow fluid. “So they gave me a five minute test run, and—”

“Five _minutes_? What could you possibly hope to accomplish in that time?”

Yeosang rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Can you let me finish?”

“I’m just saying, you guys got ripped off. I dunno how much this dream thing cost but I can’t imagine it was cheap if your father had any involvement—”

“Can you let me fucking finish,” Yeosang interrupted, not bothering to mask the impatience in his tone. Sometimes Wooyoung could be such a pain in the ass. “ _Anyway_ , as I was explaining before you so rudely interrupted, dream time is different from real time. Everything works much slower, so five minutes in the real world is sixty minutes in a dream.”

Wooyoung still looked highly sceptical, trailing his fingers over all the knobs and buttons, before picking up one of the vials. “What’s this stuff? Looks like pee in a test tube.”

“I think they called it Somnacin? If you clip it in here and press the trigger, I guess it shoots it up your bloodstream and that’s how it works. I don’t know, I’m not a bloody biologist.”

“You mean chemist,” Wooyoung murmured, nodding noncommittally to the rest of his words, similar to how a bartender nodded along to a drunken patron's ramblings. Like he was just humouring him.

Yeosang made his mind up, unravelling one of the IV lines and holding the cannula up. 

“You know what? Rather than me explaining, why don’t I just show you?”

Five minutes later, the beeping of the timer registered into his consciousness, and he sat up slowly.

Wooyoung was still flat on his back, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling like he’d just shat his pants.

He turned head slowly, eyes still wide as saucers as he goggled at Yeosang.

“What the fuck was that? Was that a fucking _dragon_? What the actual fuck just happened—”

He was speaking so fast it was all coming out in incomprehensible gibberish, and Yeosang threw his head back and laughed. Serves you right, he thought.

“Fuck me, God bless the rich,” Wooyoung choked out, slumping back on the bed with a disbelieving laugh. “What are you waiting for, let’s do it again!”

+++

Wooyoung was released from the hospital a lot earlier than he anticipated, and he could barely make it to the car without being breathless with exhaustion, slumping into the leather seat to catch his breath.

A smoothie-looking drink was already being pushed into his hand as he tried to control the churning feeling in his gut. He stifled what he hoped wasn’t a vomit down; he’d lose his head if he got even a speck of saliva in this vehicle.

“Drink that – it will help.” Seonghwa was reversing out of the parking bay with one hand and smoothly exiting the underground car park, also passing Wooyoung a pair of sunglasses which he hurriedly put on just as the sunshine streamed in through the windshield.

He took a tentative sip of the unidentifiable drink – it had a hint of vanilla but the texture was thick and kind of sticky. It didn’t make him want to hurl and it settled his stomach so it really did help.

“I’ve been asked to bring you to base to fill out some forms and attend the briefing, but afterwards I’ll take you home so you can take the rest of the day off. I’ve secured some IV fluid so make sure you have one hooked up before you go to sleep. Don’t watch TV because your eyes are still sensitive.”

Wooyoung nearly rolled his eyes even if inwardly he was grateful at the treatment. Seonghwa just reminded him of a nagging parent that disguised affection under henpecking.

“Yes, mother,” he said cheekily anyway, slurping the last of the smoothie concoction. Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but he looked exasperatedly amused as they entered a new car park, this one more familiar.

Wooyoung followed him down familiar corridors, one he walked many times by himself once upon a time – unused rooms here and there where he’d nap in or hide from Hongjoong sometimes, the storage room where he kept all his supplies and stock...

And the double doors of the work room, muted voices murmuring indecipherably from the inside.

Seonghwa swung the doors open, and Wooyoung hovered behind him uncertainly, not sure what to expect.

The room looked much the same as when he was last here – Seonghwa's corner with its myriad of to-do lists, Yunho's cardboard kingdom, and a very familiar laboratory setup—

Not much has changed there either, certainly a few things had been swapped or moved to slightly different locations, but otherwise it was almost like nothing had changed, just suspended in the time he’d been laying in that hospital bed.

The only blemish on the otherwise unchanged landscape was an unidentifiable tall boy – nearly as tall as Yunho, from what he could see – head thrown back in laughter and eyes so narrow they looked like crescent moons, as a very familiar boy clung to his back, toned arms wrapped around the stranger’s neck and hugging him tightly as he was also consumed with laughter.

And as Wooyoung observed the familiar boy's cheerful face, so free from the harsh plains of a frown or hurt or pain, unlike the last time he’d seen it, Wooyoung felt something bubbling deep in his gut.

But he was already speaking before he could address it, tone deceptively light but with a hint of scorn underneath the surface, “You’ve moved on quick, haven’t you?”

Several things happened at the same time – the laughter ceased immediately, the unidentifiable boy turned, and in his confusion dropped the other boy on his back, who slid down to the ground, narrow fox-like gaze zeroing in on Wooyoung.

On their stations, busy minding their own business at the time, Yunho and Jongho looked up.

There was a tense silence for a few seconds where no one spoke, and Seonghwa was just opening his lips as if he was planning to break it, when a voice spoke from behind them.

“I see the gang's all here.” 

Hongjoong made his way to the whiteboard, and the rest wasted no time making their way over and settling on the seats. Wooyoung deliberately chose the seat facing across a particular someone, who was refusing to meet his eyes and kept his gaze on Hongjoong. Next to him was that unnecessarily tall boy, still blinking stupidly at Wooyoung and probably wondering who he was.

“Mingi, you must be wondering who this is – this is Jung Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said helpfully to put him out of his misery. “He’s a member of ATEEZ. He's just been discharged from the hospital so he was unable to join us before.”

“And Wooyoung,” Hongjoong’s sharp tone forced Wooyoung’s gaze away from where he was still burning a hole into the face of the boy across him, “this is Song Mingi. He’s our newest member and he specialises in extraction.”

At that, Wooyoung’s brow furrowed, but before he could voice out the thoughts at the tip of his tongue, a hand gripped his thigh and squeezed lightly.

He didn’t have to turn his head to know it was Seonghwa, the other's face expressionless and still focused on Hongjoong, but the firm grip on his leg was enough to stifle whatever questions Wooyoung had.

“So now that we’re all here, let me take this opportunity to bring you all up to speed...”

If Wooyoung already felt like shit coming out of the hospital, he was ready to admit himself back in by the time the briefing finished. 

There had been no small amount of confusion and anxiety at the news that he was expected to join them on the upcoming assignment, but Hongjoong had recited the information as if he had a gun to his head, not elaborating any further and not opening the floor for questions.

The conclusion was, Jongho would handle and produce the blend needed for the task, but would stay topside. Wooyoung will take his place on the second level.

Hongjoong left immediately after he dismissed them, and Wooyoung noticed Seonghwa watching his retreating back, brow furrowed and clearly wanting to follow him, but he turned back to Wooyoung with a forced smile on his lips.

“You ready to go?” But Wooyoung already had his own attention focused on someone else, a certain someone gathering his things with the obvious intent of leaving as well, and he made up his mind.

“I think I found another lift, hyung,” he said, stepping out to block the doorway and halting someone mid-exit. “San, can you please take me home? I would appreciate it.” 

He wouldn’t give the other the opportunity to run away; like a plaster that needed to be ripped off, it was better to do it in one go and tolerate the pain rather than peeling it off slowly.

Seonghwa studied both of their faces as if gauging whether he should step in or not; whatever he saw there must have made his mind up as he passed San his car keys.

“His stuff is in the boot – one scratch and I’ll have your head, Choi,” he said on his way out, obviously on his way to go look for Hongjoong.

San finally met his gaze, and his expression was carefully blank as he regarded him silently. He then proceeded on his way out the door without another word, and Wooyoung had no choice but to follow, ignoring the curious glances on his back.

They were already in his flat with not a single word spoken between them, and San was already moving back towards the door as if he had every intention of just leaving it at that, and Wooyoung had just about had enough.

“You can’t run away forever,” he said just as San's hand was already on the door knob, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “We need to talk about it at some point.”

San let his hand fall from the door, but he didn’t turn.

“I can’t – not now. Not when you look so frail you'd get swept by a gust of wind,” San spoke after a long time, and he sounded just as emotionally exhausted as Wooyoung felt.

“I might be sick but I’m not _frail_ ,” Wooyoung couldn’t help but snap sourly. But San still didn’t turn around, and the room was beginning to spin, and his limbs were giving out under him—

Strong arms caught him just before his knees hit the ground. 

A part of him was offended at unintentionally being cast as some kind of swooning damsel-in-distress, but he couldn’t complain when he was being rescued by such a dashing hero.

“Sannie,” he whispered quietly, clinging as much as he could to the other. “Can you stay with me? Please.”

Soon he was in bed, IV fluid hooked into his vein, head pillowed on a strong shoulder and looking up into familiar, gentle eyes, and he couldn’t help his tears at the swell of warmth bursting in his chest.

The tears were brushed away just as he closed his eyes, and a soft kiss pressed on his forehead.

“Sleep.” 

There were no more words exchanged, but tucked into those warm and safe arms, Wooyoung felt it was enough for now.

+++

Hongjoong knew exactly when he was on the verge of burning out.

The first sign was becoming forgetful; he would leave silly things like his car keys behind and only recall when he was already sitting on the driver’s seat, or be holding a piping hot mug of coffee and suddenly find himself going to boil the kettle. 

His brain and body tended to go into autopilot for the everyday things, but with minimal to no sleep to power it, it switched off a few of the necessary components to conserve energy.

Which is why he was nearly halfway home when he realised he left his laptop at the base, the laptop that contained the documents he had been planning to review for the rest of the night. His findings were due to be presented in exactly eight hours.

The second sign was avoiding anyone and everyone, purely because he had no energy to speak more than a few words at a time, and more importantly he didn’t have the presence of mind to filter what came out of his mouth. 

Which is why he’d begged off several meetings after today's briefing, asking Yunho to reschedule the landscape review to tomorrow, telling Mingi he was already booked up when he asked to have a word, and lying blatantly to Seonghwa that he was too busy to speak about the change of roster in the assignment. 

Some of those he got away with much easier, but he didn’t have the time or energy to dwell on the knowing look in Seonghwa's eyes.

Burning out was just a state of mind at this point. Hongjoong powered through purely on energy drinks, sheer willpower, and no small amount of spite.

The base should be deserted at this time, in the few minutes just before the clock struck midnight; to his surprise, he noted light illuminating the open doorway of the workspace.

Maybe the cleaning staff forgot to switch it off, he thought absently, when a murmured conversation gradually filtered into his ears as he drew closer.

_“Are you sure, hyung? How do I make sure you’ll make it out?”_

_“We’ll have to rely on the timer. If that doesn’t work, then do the kick. The fall might force me awake.”_

_“A kick? How do I do that exactly?”_

_“Just push me over until I fall.”_

_“And if that doesn’t work?”_

_“Slap me, shake me, do everything you can.”_

_“I’m really not sure about this hyung...shouldn’t we at least tell Hongjoong-hyung?”_

_“If we don’t test it, we'll never find out if it works or not. Now on my signal...”_

Hongjoong had heard enough, his slow steps gradually picking up pace the more of the conversation he heard. 

And once he heard his name, he broke out into a run.

He burst through the doorway, just as a finger hovered over the PASIV button, inches away from pressing it.

Two figures whirled around in shock at his sudden entrance.

Jongho – worry and anxiety spelled across his features, finger hovering above the PASIV trigger.

And Seonghwa – half-risen from one of the stretchers, as if he had been interrupted on his way to lying down. One of the wires was already connected to his vein.

Hongjoong stepped closer in a daze, his blood roaring in his ears. The tension in the room was so thick it was nearly tangible, clouding the atmosphere like a blanket of smoke, stinging Hongjoong’s eyes and making them watery.

“What,” he breathed out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Beneath the surface, a scream was bubbling dangerously, on the verge of release. “what the hell is this?”

Jongho had gone white with fear, taking two trembling steps back from the PASIV. Seonghwa, on the other hand, looked outwardly calm, but his eyes betrayed a hint of his unease.

They didn’t speak for a few tense seconds, and Hongjoong did not have the time or patience to be tested.

“ _Answer_!” His barked command was like the lash of a whip; Jongho jumped nearly a foot in the air. Even Seonghwa flinched.

“We're testing a new blend,” Seonghwa stated quietly before Jongho could speak, meeting Hongjoong's eyes impassively as if he was simply reciting a report. “Jongho has been working on a formula to ensure stable dream depth. I volunteered to test it out.”

Hongjoong's chest was thundering so loud in his chest he could barely hear any of the words. His blood felt like it was boiling beneath his skin, like a million fire ants running across his veins.

Seonghwa seemed to have decided to lay it all out in the open. “If it’s a success and I make it out, then this is the breakthrough we desperately need.”

“And if you don’t?”

Hongjoong's tone and expression made Jongho tremble even more, but if anything it made Seonghwa even more resilient.

“Then I have made the necessary arrangements in the event of my incapacitation, which will be released to you if Jongho was unable to revive me.”

Hongjoong wondered if this was what betrayal felt like. Like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, his soul torn in half and ground into the dust underneath Seonghwa's boot.

Like it would be, in a world without Seonghwa in it.

But Hongjoong didn’t want to imagine that, _couldn’t_ imagine it without breaking out into a cold sweat, couldn’t imagine a scenario where he hadn’t forgotten his laptop and had woken up the next morning to find out Seonghwa was gone. 

Perhaps physically still present, but not much else. The second person in Hongjoong’s life, and yet so much different from the first. Because it was Seonghwa.

“What were you hoping to achieve with this?” Anger and disgust dripped on every word he spoke, like a toxic venom that poisoned everything it touched. “Were you hoping to be hailed a hero? Or are you so desperate for redemption for your past fuck-up that you’re willing to risk your brain being turned to scrambled egg?”

He couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, yet he could no longer look at the stricken expression on Seonghwa's features, turning instead to Jongho.

“And you,” he spat out. “For you to make the same mistake that brought you into the team in the first place, are we a joke to you? The same mistake that cost us a man – the same mistake that was _your_ job to prevent,” He was nearly roaring now, voice echoing in the empty room.

He didn’t receive a response from either; both were so frozen they looked suspended in time.

“Was my _humiliation_ not enough, _begging_ Eden to save this team, to save all of you?” The raging fire was dying down to embers, and somehow he preferred to hide behind the rage, rather than give in to the unmistakeable tears prickling his eyes.

“If being the leader of this unit even fucking means anything anymore, I order you to cease this madness,” he whispered as his final words. “I want that blend destroyed _immediately_.”

He turned and walked away rigidly, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

Only when he was miles away, and he had no more eyes or ears listening in, did he allow the anguished tears to fall.


	8. Chapter 8

Yeosang didn’t think he'd be so...interested in dream sharing.

He thought the nondescript silver briefcase would join the rest of the pile of clutter in a forgotten corner of his room, just like all the presents he’d received over the years as the standard acknowledgement for the day he was born.

Material possessions that varied in size or design, but with no regard put towards the cost. The sky was the limit, in this palatial mansion he called home, where everything his heart desired was presented to him on a golden platter in exchange for his filial obligations.

Everything, except what he desperately wanted.

_Freedom. Friendship. Family._

But dreams were different. There, he could live a fantasy life, where he was surrounded by people who cared about him, where they loved him for who he was – a boy named Kang Yeosang, regardless of which family he was born in. Faceless, unrecognisable projections smiling at him with warmth and opening up welcoming arms, such a stark contrast to the cold reality he lived in.

But that’s what it was, at the end of the day. A _fantasy_. Yeosang had no qualms about using the tool as an escape when things got too tough, but ultimately it was a brief respite from the harsh realities of life – much like a holiday, it was over before it even started. Then you’re back in your groundhog existence.

Wooyoung, on the other hand...he was endlessly _fascinated_ by the possibilities of it all, like a dehydrated man unable to quench his thirst, an addict desperate for his next fix. Each hour spent under was never enough, and he craved _more_ , wanted to spend more and more time in the fantasy dreamscape and just keep exploring until he'd discovered where it ended. 

Like Christopher Columbus embarking on his journey around the world, eyeing the foggy horizon without fear of what lay ahead and driven by a single-minded purpose.

_Aren’t you curious about how deep you can go?_ Wooyoung was always saying, insatiable and impossible to appease whenever that timer went off and they were back to reality. _Sixty minutes isn’t enough. If I had the resources I bet I could tweak this Somnacin to something better._

And they went under more and more, even if Yeosang couldn’t understand what the other was so desperately searching for, unable to stop the steam train that was Wooyoung once he’d sunk his teeth into something. 

He knew Wooyoung was extremely clever despite only finishing high school – had heard his story of being interested in chemistry even as a child and finishing top of his class, his ambitions of being a scientist, but ultimately not having the funds or resources to pursue his passion further. So he’d enlisted instead, and retired his thinking cap to replace it with a tool box and honest work using his hands.

And it had been fine for him, up until this point – then Yeosang opened his eyes to dream sharing, and the old passion in Wooyoung had been ignited, and had been roaring uncontrollably ever since.

So now they were down to their last vial of Somnacin, and Yeosang was already trying to think of how to ask for more without giving himself away, and also because he’s never had to ask for anything in his life.

He’s never wanted anything, until now. Because he looked at Wooyoung's face, his first and only friend, and the thirst for knowledge that Wooyoung could never hope to appease with his own limited capabilities and resources. So Yeosang had to be the one to step in and provide it for him.

“—Hongjoong? You’re referring to Captain Kim Hongjoong? Of the Black Berets?”

“Yes, father,” his sister was droning out like a robot responding to its master, reciting the line like a puppet being pulled by strings. Her back was straight against the seat, raven hair rigidly swept away from her face and not a strand out of place. “He has resigned from his post following his recruitment by KQ Organisation.”

“KQ, huh? Never heard of them,” there was no small amount of scorn in his father’s voice, the name scoffed out like it disgusted him. “A damn shame. He’s an incredible soldier – last I heard he was being considered for promotion.”

“Rumour has it he is heading a new project,” his sister spoke again, as lifeless as a doll. “KQ has expressed interest in starting a dream sharing team.”

“ _Dream sharing_ ,” the derision was even more obvious now, and Yeosang's father threw his napkin at the table as if expressing that he’d lost his appetite. Yeosang flinched despite himself; he hated this farce that his father insisted on, forcing his family to sit in front of him like trained dogs for mealtimes. 

It was just a facade of a happy home, and in reality was an allocated part of his day to spend interrogating and belittling his family in front of each other, a way for him to remind them who was boss and how powerless they all were. 

Yeosang hated it, hated his father, and most of all hated how he was right. They were all pawns to him, just like the thousands of faceless soldiers ground under the heel of Air Force General Kang.

“Absolute disgrace,” His father spat out, more passionate about some army captain than he’d ever been about either of his children. “To abandon serving your own country for some... _cheap fantasies._ ” 

He had clearly had enough, pushing back his seat and storming out. 

As soon as the doors closed behind him, the three occupants of the table all slumped their rigid shoulders, like puppets whose strings have been cut.

“Finish your food, Yeosang-ah,” his mother was speaking softly, as if she was afraid she’d face dire consequences if she went a decibel higher. And maybe she would, if his father decided to come back and take his anger out on them.

Wouldn’t be the first time. So Yeosang bowed his head and methodically finished his now-cold steak, only one thing on his mind.

_Dream sharing team, huh?_

+++

Mingi thought the sub-zero temperatures of Antarctica was probably still warmer than the room he was currently in.

An incident had clearly occurred between a few of the team members, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to draw that conclusion. 

What surprised him more were the people involved.

Hongjoong had been like a prowling tiger all morning, untapped fury simmering underneath the surface and dangerously close to bubbling over. Nobody dared to invoke his inexplicable wrath – even San was subdued today, clearly wise enough not to try and poke the bear. Hongjoong looked like he hadn’t slept in years, eyes swollen and so bruised that Mingi wondered how he kept them open.

He’d seen Hongjoong tired before, and a certain someone would usually be found within close distance of him, handing him a cup of coffee and asking him to check this or that to mask his true intentions of getting him to rest, before turning to the rest of the members and taking the lead for the rest of the day.

That certain someone...had barely said two words today, face so carefully blank he was like a statue carved out of marble. He refused to meet anyone's eyes, keeping his gaze focused somewhere far away – the usual gentle smile nowhere to be found, soothing voice silenced.

And lastly Jongho, cowering as if he was afraid to even be heard _breathing_ – such a stark contrast to his usual self-assuredness, a shadow of his former self.

They delivered their updates to Hongjoong one by one, no room for banter today and nervousness leaking out of their pores. A few abrupt, unsurprisingly harsh comments were fed back to them, bitten out through gritted teeth.

Even Wooyoung – despite looking constantly on the verge of collapse – wasn’t spared from Hongjoong’s inexplicable scorn. Normally this would be the part where Mingi would expect Seonghwa to step in, but the other kept himself impassively still, simply observing the exchange as if he were a mere spectator in a crowd – a glazed faraway look in his eyes that spoke volumes that despite being physically present, the rest of him was clearly elsewhere.

San, however, had clearly had enough and could no longer hold his temper. “Hyung, you’re going too far, he’s still sick for god’s sake!”

“This isn’t a day-care and I’m not your goddamn nanny,” Hongjoong had lashed out, hot and burning like acid. “I’m sick and tired of always giving in to his whims, always walking on eggshells when _he’s_ the one who got us into this mess.”

There was a frozen silence that immediately permeated the room, and even Mingi wasn’t dense enough to not realise that he wasn’t just speaking about the assignment anymore.

But Hongjoong wasn’t finished, pointing one accusatory finger at San. “And _you_ need to stop coddling him. Isn’t it tiring to always be the one giving and never receiving anything back?”

San’s face was so frosty with rage that his look could have killed Hongjoong where he stood. But Hongjoong was already turning towards the rest, lip curled in a derisive sneer.

“Any more issues with how I’m trying to run this goddamn team? Be my fucking guest and take over the role if you wish. Maybe then you’ll fucking realise what a joke you’ve all made me.”

He left without another word, and as soon as the door swung shut behind him, a collective breath was released, like a predator had just walked away from a frightened flock of prey.

“Hyung,” Wooyoung immediately said, worry clear in his voice and attention fully focused on Seonghwa, who had wasted no time shrugging his jacket on with one smooth motion.

“Not now, Wooyoung-ah,” his tone was as gentle as always, but firm and brooked no room for argument, and all eyes followed him as he left the room silently, heading off on the opposite direction of Hongjoong’s office.

Mingi turned to the next person who had already made his way back to his workstation, hands moving robotically but gaze blank, like his hands were on autopilot but his thoughts were in a faraway place.

“Jongho?” he approached cautiously so as to not spook the other. “Are you okay?”

“Hey, hyung,” Jongho forced a smile, and Mingi didn’t know why, but he looked like he was on the verge of falling apart. But all he said was, “yeah, fine. I just want to get on with this, if that’s okay.”

And he had turned his back, clearly unprepared to speak, so Mingi had no choice but to leave and join San and Wooyoung who had already been standing next to PASIV. There was a hushed, murmured conversation between the two, and Mingi hesitated a little – San looked upset, trying to meet the other’s eyes, while Wooyoung’s head was bowed and he was shaking it, brushing off the other’s concerned advances almost impatiently.

Not for the first time Mingi felt lost, as if he was constantly missing pieces of the puzzle of this team – who was this Wooyoung, why was he in the hospital until now, what his position was in the team even though they had a complete roster without him – but as with the many other secrets this team held, nobody was willing to shed light on it.

But there was no time to dwell on his sudden loneliness, San suddenly appearing next to him with a tense set to his lips even as he tried to give him a brave smile. “Come on, Mingi – we’ve got a lot to cover. Let’s get to work.”

And maybe he didn’t know a lot of things about this team, but he at least knew that San was his friend. And just as he was about to follow, Yunho had gripped his shoulder lightly on his way out, almost as if the other had sensed his mood.

Mingi kept these thoughts in mind as he squared his shoulders and got to work.

+++

Yunho wiped his clammy hands on his jacket, standing nervously outside the nondescript door. He wasn’t sure what to say once he was let in, but he was determined to at least take the initiative as the second most senior of the team remaining in the building.

Admittedly in the many years they’ve worked together, Yunho has encountered a broad range of darker emotions from Hongjoong – livid, stressed, infuriated – but the kill switch had always been Seonghwa. Seonghwa always knew what to say or how to calm him down, and Yunho would be the first to admit that he was grateful that he had always acted as a buffer between them and Hongjoong’s temper.

But what to do when the buffer was clearly the cause on this occasion?

So Yunho pulled up his pants as the next best option, and willingly walked into the lion's den. 

“Make it quick. I’ve got a pile of work to do and you’ve got plenty of comments to take on board.”

Yunho didn’t let the barbed remarks get to him, closing the door silently behind him.

Hongjoong's office was a state, piles of papers strewn everywhere; the man himself was not faring much better, hair dishevelled like he’d been running his hands through it.

Yunho could take several approaches to this; he could come from the viewpoint of the team, or he could offer a general observation of a third-party perspective.

But looking at the eyes of someone who was so clearly on the edge of collapse, like his whole world had just crumbled into pieces – Yunho made the decision.

“What happened, hyung?” He made his voice as gentle as possible, pouring in all his worry and anxiety in his tone. Like extending a hand to a wounded animal with only the intent to save them, comfort them, even at the risk of getting your hand bit.

Because this was Hongjoong, a man who had been his leader since day one, even at the very beginning when it was just the two of them in the team. A man he trusted without reserve, a man who does so much for them without asking anything in return.

Yunho didn’t feel he had much to offer in exchange, but he was willing to offer his friendship and a sympathetic ear – he hoped it was enough.

Perhaps it had been the sincerity of his question, or the effect of whatever happened that finally caught up to him – Yunho felt his heart drop to his feet at the silent tears streaming down Hongjoong's cheeks, suddenly shaken at the sight of such a strong figure reduced to such a physical display of emotion.

And Hongjoong poured his heart out. Like the words were being torn out of him, yet he couldn’t stem the tide. Like a dam that had burst, a tsunami that swept all in its path.

The planned changes in the team. Wooyoung’s potential arrest. Catching Seonghwa and Jongho testing an unsafe blend just seconds before it was too late.

Each word that dropped, Yunho's horror grew more and more. Had all this been happening right underneath his nose? How blind had he been to the others' suffering until now? 

As blind as he had been the first time they were in a situation similar to this? Would he be too late to intervene again?

But the truth was, he hadn’t been blind this time. A part of him may have wanted to shut his eyes from the inevitability of this situation – but he had known. They had all known, the moment Mingi had walked into the workstation on his first day and had been introduced as their new extractor.

The sheer shock that had paralysed him and the dread that had permeated his very bones. The look in Hongjoong’s eyes, the warning there but with the underlying sense of resignation.

Because they’d all been destroyed, after that day. And Hongjoong had been the only one who remained standing – the last pillar amidst the collapsed rubble after the earthquake that had wrecked their whole foundations.

The one they had all clung to desperately when they all unravelled at the seams. Hongjoong had been the one to lift them all on his strong shoulders and carry the burden, had been the one to carefully pick up the pieces of his shattered team and struggle to put it back to some semblance of order.

But not without coming out unscathed – not without paying his own personal price for his own suppressed guilt.

In the form of a _shade_ – infiltrating his very subconscious and causing mayhem and havoc, paralysing a once unflappable prodigy to the point he was unable to carry out even the simplest of dreamshare tasks. 

An accomplished, stalwartly dependable extractor reduced to constantly looking over his shoulder – always anxiously waiting to see if that elusive shadow would emerge from dark corners, a never-ending reminder of how he’d failed to see the cracks in the team, how he’d failed to stop the collapse of his unit.

And it was only a matter of time, when their failures were beginning to outnumber their successes from a once solid and reliable team, that KQ would no longer be able to tolerate the continuous blow to their reputation, and began to make quiet arrangements to remedy the issue by any means necessary.

“You need to tell the rest about this,” Yunho spoke after a long time, after Hongjoong had finally fallen silent after pouring his heart out. “The rest need to know. They _deserve_ to know. No more secrets, hyung.” Not anymore. Because he’d be damned if a secret or hiding the truth would lead to their downfall again.

Because Hongjoong was just one man; so was Yunho. So was Seonghwa, Jongho – San, Wooyoung, and even Mingi.

But together, they were a team. Maybe one man can’t change the course of history, but seven can certainly try to influence the path of the future.

He might not have been able to stop it the first time, but he would do everything in his power to prevent it from happening again.

Hongjoong didn’t respond, but he’d stopped crying, briskly scrubbing at his cheeks as if he was embarrassed of the display of emotion.

He looked a bit better than the start, but still so clearly exhausted and unhappy, and Yunho knew his job wasn’t done yet.

Maybe this was overstepping his boundaries, but he was already in too deep anyway. “Have you considered telling Seonghwa-hyung how you feel?” He kept his phrasing vague, but he knew exactly what he meant. And from the sudden discomfort on Hongjoong's face, he knew he’d hit the mark.

“I won’t speak on his behalf, neither will I speak for you,” he continued bravely. “But speaking from a third-party perspective with no bias whatsoever – I can safely assure you that the feeling is definitely mutual.”

Hongjoong ducked his head so he could no longer read his eyes, but Yunho couldn't help but add one last thing.

“Go after him, hyung. The kids can’t stand when their parents are fighting.” With that quip, Yunho left the office quietly, but just before he swung the door closed he caught a glimpse of Hongjoong looking contemplative, but shoulders much lighter like an invisible burden had just been removed.

Taming Hongjoong might be Seonghwa’s forte, Yunho thought to himself, but he wasn’t too shabby at it either.

+++

“You’re a difficult man to find.”

Seonghwa didn’t turn at the quiet remark behind him, even as his heart skipped a beat. He lifted the tumbler he held loosely to his lips, tipping the remaining amber liquid down in one go and letting the burning sensation calm him.

He was just like Jongho – creature of habit. Though admittedly in a much nicer establishment, no disrespect to the other.

He very rarely, if ever, indulged in alcohol, but today had been an exception. An exceptionally shitty day, and depending on what the other man came for, it could potentially get even shittier.

Or it could get better. Seonghwa would never admit it but he was definitely caught off guard at the other taking the initiative to find him first.

He thought they’d keep up the cold war for a while longer, until Seonghwa's traitorous heart would eventually have enough and come crawling for forgiveness. He’d grovel if he had to; a proud man like himself reduced to nothing when he was up against Kim Hongjoong.

Damn him. Damn this pathetic thing in his chest he called a heart.

But until he was certain of the other's intentions, no point revealing his cards.

“You always were remarkably good at finding me,” he said instead, keeping his voice free of any emotion as he lifted one finger. The attentive bartender immediately placed a new tumbler in front of him, wasting no time or words; he paid good money for that type of service, after all.

Hongjoong slid on the seat next to him, shaking his head at the silent question in the bartender's eyes. He got a polite nod, and the staff member disappeared just as quickly as he came, giving them privacy.

“Why have you come?” Normally, Seonghwa would let the other person start the conversation, as he would just need to think of a counter-attack for whatever approach they chose. The first person to speak rarely has the upper hand.

But he was still hurting from the words spoken to him yesterday, at the scathing reception he’d received this morning, and he was tired and not in his best state to try and play mind games.

“I’ve come to apologise.” 

At the simple words, Seonghwa couldn’t help but finally turn to look at the other; had he been a lesser man, his mouth would have gaped and his eyes opened wide with shock. 

Kim Hongjoong never apologised for anything, unless he had a gun held to his head or he was under extreme duress. Which admittedly were both rare occasions so therefore, he had never had to admit he was wrong.

But nobody was holding a gun to his head, he wasn’t being tortured or forced to spit the words out – in contrast, he looked calm, eyes full of sincerity and a complete 180 of the wrathful anger that had burned Seonghwa last night.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, and for saying hurtful words,” Hongjoong continued, eyes locked into his and not looking away. “Most of all, I’m sorry that you felt the need to hide this from me. Because I know you’ve been consumed by guilt over what happened, and I didn’t assure you that I never blamed you for it. None of us ever have, or ever will.”

The sound of clinking distracted Seonghwa enough to realise his hand, holding the tumbler, was shaking, the jittery motion making the ice clink against the glass. He set it down slowly, tongue suddenly so swollen in his mouth it was hard to get the words out.

“But it was my fault,” he whispered, clenching his fist as if it would calm the tremors. “It was my job to check these things. My job to support the team.” He raised his eyes up again to meet Hongjoong's. “And I failed you.”

“We all failed together,” Hongjoong's voice was so gentle, so warm, and Seonghwa felt a different type of emotion swelling in his chest. “Because we're a team. And that shouldn’t be your cross to bear alone. We all stand with you. _I_ stand with you.”

Seonghwa didn’t even realise the tears were already falling down his cheeks until Hongjoong cupped his cheek and wiped it away. His touch was ever so soft, like butterfly wings, and Seonghwa could no longer control himself, could no longer smother the sensation thundering in his chest.

He leaned closer and pressed his lips against the other's.

This could either end in tears or in fists. Seonghwa was prepared for either outcome.

Luckily for him, it was neither.

Hongjoong brought his other hand up to cup his other cheek, moulding their lips even closer; the slight pressure of his thumb on Seonghwa's chin was a silent message. He acquiesced immediately, parting his mouth to grant the other access, unable to prevent his groan at finally, _finally_ being here. After all these years of quiet yearning, he finally had Kim Hongjoong in his arms.

They had to part at some point, and he clung to the other's shirt like a lifeline, afraid that the spell would break and they’d go back to the harsh reality, and nearly begging for another kiss just to extend the fantasy a little longer.

But Hongjoong simply drew him close, sliding strong arms around his waist, their faces so close their noses were nearly touching.

“My place is closer,” and Seonghwa would never admit it, but the low voice turned him on beyond belief, and he wasted no time throwing a pile of cash on the bar, before dragging the other out with him.

+++

Mingi had split up from San and Wooyoung, leaving them to patrol the prison landscape that Yunho had built while he attempted a test run on the maze to see how long it would take him to finish. 

He was taking notes in his head, trying to remember the timing down to the second because Yunho was critical about these details, when he turned the corner and promptly froze.

A familiar golden-haired boy was standing there – observing the walls of the maze and trailing his fingers on them as if he were in an art gallery, expression politely curious.

Mingi forced his immediately tense muscles to relax – no need to panic like last time. This could be San, or his projection or maybe Wooyoung was also a forger? It wasn’t completely unheard of, since a team could have two forgers, just as they had two extractors?

Speaking of, this was San's dream, and Wooyoung was the subject, so this was his subconscious, and therefore—

“San?” Mingi approached tentatively, dreaming up a gun and hiding it behind his back as he crept closer.

Yeosang didn’t turn at the name, still standing still like he had nowhere to be.

Brow furrowing, Mingi changed his tack. “Y-Yeosang?”

He finally got his attention – he forced himself not to jump when those bottomless eyes finally focused on him.

“Who are you?” the projection spoke, inquiry polite and distant like he was meeting Mingi for the very first time. He didn’t think San would go to such lengths to spook him, and somehow he didn’t think Wooyoung was readily willing to prank someone he barely knew. So this was definitely a projection.

Wooyoung’s projection. So he knew Yeosang as well. It seemed everyone in the team but Mingi knew who he was.

“I’m Mingi,” It was a bizarre experience, speaking to a projection like he was an actual person, but Mingi much preferred it to being stabbed in the guts no questions asked. This version of Yeosang was calm, coolly distant like he was tired of this conversation but was just being polite. “Who are you?”

For a moment, Yeosang looked confused. “What do you mean? Why are you asking?”

Okay, maybe he needed to rephrase that. “Why are you here? What are you doing here?”

Yeosang looked like he was considering how to phrase his next statement; as if he was tired of explaining himself over and over.

“He put me here,” he spoke after a long time. “Even though I told him not to, even though I told him it was a mistake. He did it anyway.” At those cryptic words, Yeosang shrugged. “So I’m stuck here until I die, I suppose.”

Mingi was more confused than when he started. Mistake? Stuck?

“Stuck where?” he insisted, because he just wanted to understand this mystery, just wanted to fill in the gaps of this endless enigma that was Yeosang.

Yeosang looked impatient, but in the end he spoke one final word, and Mingi's blood ran cold.

“Limbo.”


	9. Chapter 9

If Hongjoong had known it was this easy to get Seonghwa into his arms and into his bed, he would have started an argument that would have required his apology _ages_ ago.

Or maybe that was just to mask the fact that he felt like an utter idiot for not reading the signs sooner. Was he that hopeless that he needed a third-party intervention to finally pull his head out of his arse?

“I can hear you thinking from down here,” The mild exasperation was mixed with amusement, and a slender finger came up to tap his nose. “Shh. I’m trying to sleep.”

There would be no sleep when he had a siren in his arms, looking so delectably tempting that Hongjoong felt something down south stirring again, ramping up for another round. In his chest, his heart swelled madly simultaneously, so tickled with joy at finally being able to hold this beautiful, mysterious man. 

It was an odd sensation to be caught in, to be sure. Hongjoong didn’t know which one to act upon first.

Seonghwa made the decision for him, half rising to lock their lips together, trailing one hand from his cheek, down to his neck, slowly down his chest and even further south. He was inches away from his goal when he stopped, detaching his lips as well.

Hongjoong would never admit that he pouted like a child at that moment.

“Come back,” he wheedled, locking his arms around the other's waist and pulling him up to straddle his lap. And if that got him right where Hongjoong wanted him to be, then it was killing two birds with one stone.

“Settle down, soldier,” Seonghwa drawled, amused despite himself and nearly drunk on the other's attention. He couldn’t help but mould their lips together again, his hips grinding ever so slightly against the other's and inciting a groan from Hongjoong.

If he let himself get carried away, they’d never get anything done. So Seonghwa allowed him one last kiss, before slipping off his lap and willing himself to ignore the whining and pouting that ensued.

“We need to talk,” Seonghwa insisted, because he never missed taking advantage of a window of opportunity even if he was hard and aching down there.

“No talk needed, just rewind to what we were doing before,” Hongjoong persisted, as stubborn about this as he was with everything else in life, it seemed. Seonghwa would be more annoyed if he wasn’t too occupied being too fond of him.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said firmly, pinning the other to the bed and slumping himself over him. He knew Hongjoong could easily overpower him but he kept his gaze serious so the other knew he meant business. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, and I want to know now.”

Hongjoong nearly groaned; the demand was an effective damper on the mood. Even in matters of the bedroom, Seonghwa immediately knew how to control him, Hongjoong noted sourly.

He comforted himself by keeping his hands on the other, unable to detach himself completely even when he finally broke the news to Seonghwa. Yunho had been right about more than one thing – there was no more point keeping secrets. The others deserved to know the truth, and shouldn’t be kept blind while Hongjoong kept it hidden until it ate away at him like a slow death.

Seonghwa looked a lot more critical of the news than Yunho, mind clearly working to analyse the data and figure out potential solutions. He was so serious and concentrated, and should look ridiculous when he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on and his hair was messy from Hongjoong's handling, but instead he looked so irresistible that Hongjoong couldn’t help but crave him even more.

But if there was one thing he knew about Seonghwa, it was that he hated being interrupted when he was thinking, so he squashed his amorous thoughts and waited patiently for the other to speak, contenting himself with running a hand up and down the smooth skin of Seonghwa’s back.

“So from what I’ve concluded, there is no good outcome regardless if we succeed this mission or not,” Seonghwa mused after a long silence. “But there is a third option. Something glaringly obvious. We’ve attempted it before, but not with the right tools.”

Hongjoong didn’t have the patience or energy to try and decipher the coded language. “Can you spell it out, please?”

Seonghwa shot him a glare, but he was clearly fired up, sitting up and letting Hongjoong's arm slip off him. No matter, Hongjoong simply moved his hand to a shapely thigh.

“This whole situation escalated to this extent because we failed to pull Yeosang out of limbo. But not for lack of trying – we just didn’t have the necessary tools at the time,” Seonghwa continued, glazing over his gross understating of the actual events that transpired during the darkest period the team had ever gone through. But there was no point elaborating so he carried on, “but not anymore. I know you were upset about it but hear me out. Jongho has potentially cracked the code with the new blend he made.”

Hongjoong tamped down his knee-jerk reaction to hearing this, forcing himself to be objective and consider the option and its possible viability. He sat up as well, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered. “We can’t take the risk of testing it out. Not you, not anyone else. I won’t lose anyone else.”

“But we at least have to give it a shot,” Seonghwa pleaded, and he looked so tired of the whole situation, tired of this dark cloud hanging over their heads and haunting them like a never-ending nightmare. “We owe it to Yeosang. You told me to never give up,” Seonghwa cupped his cheeks suddenly, kissing him deeply and pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t give up, Kim Hongjoong.”

He held Seonghwa's perfect face in his hands, kissing him deeply as his heart swelled with another sensation.

_Hope._

“We need to discuss it with the team,” Hongjoong said firmly, decision made.

Seonghwa wasted no time, immediately jumping off the bed and started tugging his clothes back on. Hongjoong mourned the end of their time together, but comforted himself in the knowledge that they’d have hours, days, months, _years_ to come yet. So he slid off the bed himself, fishing for his clothes in the pile that had been shed hurriedly when they arrived a few hours ago.

“And you need to speak to Jongho,” Seonghwa ordered, tucking in his shirt into his trousers. “Make sure you apologise for yelling at him. And don’t do it again.”

Hongjoong raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “Are you done bossing me around?”

All of a sudden Seonghwa went pink, and tried to avert his head to hide it but Hongjoong caught it just as well, smiling slyly.

“My, my, what’s this? Have I discovered your dominating kink?” He had already grabbed the half-dressed man, just about to turn him around and let him know his honest thoughts on the matter when his phone rang.

“You better get that,” Seonghwa hurriedly disentangled himself, and Hongjoong had no choice but to rummage for his phone in the pile.

“Yunho? What is—” He'd barely finished speaking and putting the phone on speaker when Yunho was already responding, and even over a telephone line the stark fear on his voice was obvious.

“ _Hyung, you have to come immediately. It’s urgent_.” He was nearly whispering into the phone like he didn’t want to be overheard.

Seonghwa appeared next to him immediately, and they exchanged a quick look. “Yunho, what happened?”

“ _S-Seonghwa-hyung? What are you—never mind, not important for now. You both need to come as soon as you can. He’s here, hyung. He’s in the KQ base_.”

Hongjoong was already pulling his clothes on as fast as he could, feeling his heartbeat quicken.

“Who’s there?”

“ _General Kang_.”

At those words, Hongjoong and Seonghwa broke out into a run.

+++

Yunho had barely finished kicking the dreamers out of the dream, silently apologising for the lack of finesse when the doors burst open, armed soldiers flooding the room one by one with guns cocked and ready to fire. 

He immediately raised his arms, mirrored by the others, and they were forced into the centre of the room, pushed down to their knees and ordered roughly to place their hands on their heads.

Yunho surveyed the other faces in the room, heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear above it – San looked enraged, Wooyoung looked exhausted and seemingly only above to hold himself up through sheer willpower, Jongho kept his head bowed and was staring at the floor, and Mingi looked absolutely terrified. He could sympathise with all four, Yunho thought, just as loud footsteps rounded the corner and stepped into the room.

“Well, well, well.” General Kang was larger than life, classically handsome just like his son, but with a definite more sinister edge to him, like pure evil leaked out of his pores and poisoned everything in his wake. “I see we’re missing a few faces. I hope they’re on their way – I’d hate for them to miss the party.”

Right on cue, Hongjoong and Seonghwa burst through the doorway, arms immediately rising at the numerous guns pointing at them. 

General Kang smirked. “So glad you could join us, Captain Kim Hongjoong. And I see you’ve brought your pet mercenary as well.”

“What can we do for you, General Kang?” Hongjoong kept his gaze impassive even as three gun barrels were pointed at his face, eyes locked on the man commandeering the room and refusing to look away.

General Kang's amused smirk slid off his face, and a more malevolent mask took its place. “I think you and your little crew have done enough, Kim Hongjoong. I came to pay you all a personal visit, just so I could look into the eyes of my son's killers one last time.”

Inside he was screaming, but Hongjoong didn’t dare give any of his emotions away. “Your son is alive.”

“ _Hardly_ ,” General Kang nearly spat out the word, cracked out like a whip that made everyone flinch. “My son might as well be dead. Regressed to nothing but a vegetable with machines keeping him breathing.” He breathed out a ragged gasp. “My only son. That you took from me.”

“You never gave a shit about him,” Wooyoung had always been way too impulsive for his own good. “Spare us the sob story. He was just a pawn for you.”

“ _Silence!_ ” The guns immediately diverted to Wooyoung, who kept contemptuously glaring at the man before him. General Kang strode a few steps forward and back-handed him, Wooyoung's head whipping violently at the action and blood spurting off his lips. “It was _your_ fault. Tainting him with your filthy hands and _corrupting_ his mind. He was the perfect little soldier before _you_ came along.”

Wooyoung could barely lift his head from where he’d landed on the ground, and General Kang stepped on the back of it, grounding his boot in emphasis. “I’d kill you, but where's the fun in that?”

With that, he lifted his foot, scraping it on the ground slightly as if he’d stepped on something unsavoury. He turned back to Hongjoong, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket as if just being in the room made him feel filthy.

“My son is already dead,” he spoke with finality. “We have begun arrangements to switch off his support machines and his funeral will be held in seven days' time. Once his body is buried, I will have every single one of you hanged for your crimes.”

Just before he exited, he stopped just as he was shoulder to shoulder with Hongjoong, pity in his eyes as if he was capable of such an emotion.

“It really is a shame you left the army, Kim Hongjoong. You made a damn good soldier.” And with that, he left as quickly as he came, the thundering of the marching boots of his soldiers filling the corridors.

The occupants of the room didn’t waste any time, and San was first to reach Wooyoung, lifting his limp body into his arms and hurriedly brushing his hair away from his face, shaking him urgently.

“Wooyoung? Wooyoung!” The others waited with bated breath, and let out a collective sigh of relief when Wooyoung groaned.

“What the fuck is happening, hyung?” San hissed, eyes alight with fear and anger, holding Wooyoung so tightly as if he was afraid he’d disappear.

“What do we do?” Yunho whispered, trembling uncontrollably.

Jongho was still staring at the floor silently. Mingi was looking so lost, like he'd witnessed a crime he had no part of and was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Seonghwa had a grim set to his lips, as if he knew this situation had been inevitable. It was just a matter of when, not if.

Hongjoong surveyed the faces around him, the mixture of sheer terror, anger, anxiety, and confusion like a melting pot bubbling over and threatening to drown them all, and knew it was too late to keep hiding. The dam had already burst, and the truth was demanding to be released.

“Mingi, you asked who Yeosang was,” Hongjoong spoke after a long time. Mingi raised his eyes to meet his so slowly, clearly numb with shock. “It’s time you learned the truth.”

+++

“I know he’s in limbo.”

The words came out of him before he could prevent them, said quietly into the warm cup of tea he held in his hands. He looked up and surveyed the faces around him, at the wide eyes and quick, exchanged looks.

After the sudden shakeup that had destroyed their foundations similar to an earthquake, Hongjoong had the team gather in his office to finally shed some light on this dark secret they’d all been hiding. It was a little cramped having seven people in a space that could usually accommodate four, but they made do, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh on the sofas – it was better than staying in the work space which now felt tainted and dirty after what they had just experienced.

“How do you know that, Mingi?” Seonghwa’s voice was soothing and his touch on Mingi's hand gentle, and clearly whatever argument he and Hongjoong had had been resolved in the last few hours since they left, but Mingi didn’t have the strength to dwell on it and could only be grateful that they did.

“He told me himself,” he whispered, and his gaze automatically drifted to Wooyoung, whose head was lying on San's shoulder as the other held an ice pack up to his bruised cheek. “Or, Wooyoung's subconscious did. On the dream we were in just before that man came. He said...someone put him there.” The haunting words were still so clear on his mind. “That even if he told them not to, they still did it. That he told them it was a mistake.”

Wooyoung flinched at every word, and San clutched him closer, the gesture protective. 

Mingi could no longer keep his gaze on them, turning helplessly to the other faces in the room. His body was so numb, his tongue so heavy it felt like lead in his mouth. “But nobody's ever come back from limbo. It’s just...an endless pit with no bottom.”

Which meant they had no way out from this nightmare they were entrenched in – without support machines, Yeosang would die immediately, and General Kang would have them right where he wanted them. Even Mingi – despite never having met his son except the different versions of him through the others' sub-consciousness.

Mingi wondered how his old self would react, knowing what he knew now, when he first saw the unexpected opportunity opening up to join this team. If he’d still be as excited, ecstatic, hungry for the chance as he was back then – so naive and trusting and unaware of the danger that lay ahead.

And yet – he looked at the grave faces surrounding him, clearly suffering and trapped in this nightmare for a much more extended period than he has, familiar faces who had smiled at him and mentored him and taken him into their open arms, despite the circumstances that had put him there.

His team. 

When one of their own – Wooyoung – had somehow been the cause of the entire situation that had dragged everyone else into this series of unfortunate events – and yet he was still sitting there, ensconced in their arms, and they still protected him, no questions asked.

Mingi's spine twitched in a phantom pain, and deep in his heart he finally understood.

_So this is what a real team is like. You stand together, no matter what. When one falls, you help them up._

“To truly understand, we need to start from the beginning,” Hongjoong finally spoke, breaking the silence. “This isn’t just my story to tell, but I’ll start.”

He waited until all eyes were on him, and Seonghwa nodded encouragingly, hand still holding Mingi's as if he knew the other needed the support.

“Kang Yeosang was the third ever member of the team, and the first official recruit of the newly launched unit. Yunho and I had spent the last few months running tests together and making sure everything was in place before KQ opened its doors, when a direct referral came through, straight to the CEO.”

“We weren’t given any details, and as far as we knew he didn’t jump through the hoops of the usual recruitment process,” Yunho took over quietly. “It was only much later that we found out who he was, and who he was related to. But he introduced himself as an air force pilot who wanted to transfer to dream sharing. He seemed familiar with the process and how the PASIV worked, but oddly enough he was clueless about everything else – he didn’t even know what the primary dreamshare roles were.”

“He’s the reason why there's so much red tape around the members of the group, and why only Hongjoong and Yunho are on public records,” Seonghwa spoke this time. “Because Yeosang's father made sure of that.” He didn’t add that it was because General Kang wanted to hide it, was ashamed of the fact that his son had signed himself up for what he considered a fruitless endeavour. That his puppet had broken free of its strings and wanted to divert away from the engineered path that he’d been forced to obey his whole life.

“Wooyoung followed very shortly after, but this time we gave him a bit of a harder time – we wanted him to prove that he could make a solid contribution to the team,” Hongjoong continued, smiling a bit apologetically at Wooyoung who smiled back wryly. “In order for us to make it in the industry, we had to make sure we had the best recruits and played to each other’s strengths.” 

He paused, considering his next words carefully. “Now I’m not giving the impression that Yeosang was just an add-on. But it was clear that he didn’t have as much passion for dream sharing as Wooyoung certainly did, and it was clear he’d initially joined for the express purpose of opening the door for Wooyoung.”

“Yeosang is my best friend. We met in the air force, he was a pilot and I was an engineer. We couldn’t have come from more different backgrounds but somehow...we became friends, much to his father's dismay. A few months later, he introduced me to dream sharing when he received a PASIV as a gift. One thing led to another and I told him I wanted an opportunity to pursue it further, but didn’t know how – didn’t have the money either. Then he told me he’d requested a transfer to ATEEZ, and he asked me to come and join him. They didn’t make it easy, I can assure you,” Wooyoung smiled weakly at Hongjoong and Yunho, who mirrored the gesture.

So far that didn’t explain what exactly happened and how the events started to spiral downward, but just before Mingi could ask, Seonghwa spoke. “Then Hongjoong recruited me, and for a while there were the five of us – Hongjoong, Yunho and myself in the same roles as we are in now, and Wooyoung was our original chemist.” 

At that, suddenly it clicked in Mingi's brain. On his very first day, when he’d been introduced to Jongho, Seonghwa had called him their 'new' chemist.

“Yeosang was mainly Hongjoong’s support to begin with, but one day – purely by accident – he forged mid-assignment when he got cornered by projections,” Seonghwa continued, and Mingi recalled San’s explanation, _there’s no method behind it, so much as dumb luck_.

“And this was fantastic news for us, since it would really give us the edge we needed,” Wooyoung continued, and the pride was clear in his voice. “And Yeosang…he told me he felt like he finally had purpose in the team. But…” His words suddenly sputtered out like a dying flame.

“But the attempts were volatile; he couldn’t do it very easily, and at times it was to our disadvantage when we were in the middle of assignments,” Yunho spoke for him, choosing his words very delicately as if the one they referred to was sitting in the room with them and he didn’t want to hurt their feelings. “But as his confidence grew, the errors were less and less. And it was fine for us – we were racking up the successes regardless and we were getting noticed.”

“But with the attention came more pressure for us to do better, to make less mistakes,” Hongjoong said, and his lips were firm with tension like he knew they were beginning to touch on the darker chapters of the story. “KQ was unhappy that our forging wasn’t as stable as they would like. But they couldn’t remove or even discipline Yeosang without some serious repercussions.”

“So I was brought in instead,” San spoke up, and his tone was cold and distant, as if he was reciting lines off a script. “I had already made a name for myself as a freelance forger, working with different dream share teams with no loyalty to anyone in particular. Initially I had no interest in joining KQ, but when I saw the roster, there was a familiar name,” His eyes met Seonghwa’s, and there was an unspoken conversation there. “Someone I’d worked with before, someone not much different from me – and I joined purely out of curiosity.”

_Mercenary_ , General Kang had referred to Seonghwa as; Mingi couldn’t help but analyse the other for a moment, wondering exactly how many facets he had that Mingi still had yet to uncover.

“This was where things begin to get...complicated,” Seonghwa continued, when it looked like San was unwilling to continue. The plains of San's face had turned grim, and his arms had dropped from around Wooyoung, threading his fingers together in his lap as if he was bracing himself for what was to come next. 

Wooyoung looked broken, exhausted, as if the discussion was sucking the very soul out of him.

“Yeosang and I started...drifting apart,” Wooyoung finally spoke, as if he accepted that it had to be him and no one else. “It was just us for a long time – even when we joined ATEEZ we had a bond like no other. It was a mutual understanding, but the longer we spent with the team, the more I started to want to spread my wings a little, get to know the others more than just as colleagues. And when Sannie came...”

Wooyoung placed a tentative hand on San's threaded fingers, and slowly they unfurled, sandwiching Wooyoung's hand in the middle and gripping it tightly. There were no words for a while, as if Wooyoung struggled to put words to what he wanted to say.

“It was like an instant spark,” San whispered into the silence, and his hands shook slightly as he turned his head to look into Wooyoung's eyes, and the way they looked at each other was much like how Mingi had noticed Hongjoong and Seonghwa looked at each other – something he hadn't been able to put a finger on until now.

_Love_.

“It created a rift between Yeosang and I,” Wooyoung continued, sighing out the words like every breath was painful. “And I acted out. Became impulsive. I always found it difficult to control my actions, but Yeosang had always kept me level-headed. Without him I became a wildfire – untameable. Destructive.” Consuming everything in its path. Burning anything and everything it touched, regardless of the collateral damage.

“So I came in as the extinguisher,” Jongho finally broke his silence, shoulders heavy with burden. “I was in my final year of an internship when I received a phone call. Someone wanted to know what would happen if certain compounds were mixed together, what effect it would have.” Similar to San, his eyes met Seonghwa's across the room.

Mingi wondered just how broad Seonghwa’s network truly was.

“I’ve never even heard that dream sharing was possible. Was sceptical even when they asked me to come in and try it for myself. And when I did,” Jongho shuddered involuntarily, looking haunted. “I didn’t like what I saw. Contrary to the others, I was _terrified_. And it became all the more important for me to prove that introducing such an unstable mixture would lead to dire consequences. Any time I wasn’t at work, I spent sleepless nights gathering data to confirm my conclusions and I presented all my findings to the others. I begged Wooyoung-hyung to abandon the experiment.”

Jongho buried his face in his hands like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “And I thought it was fine. We all thought it was fine.”

Whatever followed that was clearly the darkest part of this story, if the grim faces surrounding Mingi were any indication. Every face was ashen, as if they were too afraid to voice out what happened next – as if keeping it quiet would change the course of events.

“Yeosang and I had another argument just before an important mission,” Wooyoung took over, and his voice sounded far away, like he was in a trance. “And something...dark in me took over. And instead of taking the blend we had agreed to use, I...took the one I had been working on. The one I’d been told to dispose of.”

And in their haste, in the hurried last-minute preparations, nobody had paid attention, nobody had double checked.

Hongjoong had noticed Yeosang storming out, but had been too preoccupied with his discussion with Seonghwa.

Yunho had noticed that Wooyoung had grabbed a different vial on their way out, but had been too preoccupied with grabbing his own things.

San had overheard the screaming, raging argument and the hurtful words exchanged, but had been unable to step forward and intervene lest he make it worse.

And finally, Seonghwa noticed that the blend was the wrong colour, a very miniscule difference but there all the same, but they had been running out of time and it was time to go under.

The stage had been set. The players in their roles. The antagonist with the murder weapon in his hand.

And the victim, the one who fell in their hands.

“I killed him,” Wooyoung choked out, tears finally spilling out his cheeks like an endless waterfall. “I killed Yeosang.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t normally prefer to write so much dialogue exposition, but I felt this portion of the story called for it. I hope some elements were already obvious as I’d dropped hints of it in previous chapters.


	10. Chapter 10

The very first time Yeosang met Choi San, he thought he looked... _dangerous_.

If this was an animal kingdom where people would be classified into categories according to levels of dominance, Yeosang would make an immediate assumption as to what Choi San was – a pure _alpha_ male, exuding intimidation and hidden aggression in his pores as he walked into the work space behind Hongjoong. 

He was surveying his surroundings and its occupants with lazy, cat-like eyes, for all intents and purposes looking bored or disinterested in what he was seeing. But Yeosang saw beneath the facade easily; in those dark orbs he saw a prowling panther, observing his potential prey and sizing them up individually.

He’d seen those eyes before, also on the first time he met a certain Park Seonghwa; said man had softened over time with his soft-spoken manner and gentle demeanour, but Yeosang harboured no delusions that if threatened, Seonghwa wouldn’t hesitate to make the switch.

_Birds of a feather_ , Yeosang thought silently, as Hongjoong finally stopped in front of where they were all seated, the other hovering next to him with his posture ramrod straight and arms behind his back in a stance that indicated a military background.

Yeosang made sure to keep his face impassively distant as he did with every stranger he met, even as he felt an involuntary shiver down his spine when those eyes finally met his and trailed slowly down his body in a manner that was not entirely innocent. He released a quiet breath he didn’t realise he was holding when that gaze was finally directed elsewhere.

“Team, I’d like to introduce Choi San,” Hongjoong began, looking deceptively like a lamb next to a lion, standing a few inches shorter than the man next to him and giving off a decidedly less intimidating aura. But Yeosang had spent enough time with the man to know that he was no lamb – it was all smoke and mirrors with this team, as mysterious and multifaceted as the dream scape that tied them all together. “He’ll be joining the team as of today, and I’d like you all to make him feel at home.” 

The non-specified position made Yeosang uneasy considering they already had a full roster, but before he could dwell on it Seonghwa had already spoken up.

“Welcome, Choi San-ssi,” Seonghwa greeted amiably, and there was a glint in his eyes like he was amused by seeing this supposed stranger, but the rest of his expression was of mere polite interest.

“Nice to meet you, Choi San-ssi,” Yunho greeted next, an affable smile on his lips and exuding his usual friendly energy.

Yeosang merely bowed his head slightly, choosing not to use his words – if the other man found it rude, his returned bow didn’t give any of his thoughts away.

“H-Hey,” the squeaked greeting made Yeosang’s head turn immediately. He’d never heard the other sound like that, and had been expecting him to give a polite greeting similar to what Yunho had given.

What he finally saw made his eyes widen imperceptibly. Was Wooyoung _blushing_?

A quick glance at the object of Wooyoung’s interest made his eyebrows raise as well. The newcomer was clearly liking what he saw, if his heavy-lidded eyes and blatant perusal was of any indication. If he were anywhere else, he’d tell them to get a goddamn room with a scathing tone.

And fine – Yeosang wasn’t blind. Choi San was a very attractive man, if he were to make a generalised third-party observation; not his personal type if anyone cared, but he was certainly a head turner for a lot of other people, with those seductive eyes, unbelievably sharp jawline, and arms so toned they could probably break someone in half. 

More importantly was the aura he exuded – effortless confidence of a man who knew he looked good and wasn’t afraid to use it to his advantage; if Yeosang swept Choi San’s fringe off his forehead he’d probably find the words ‘bad boy’ tattooed there.

But he digressed. In the long friendship he shared with Wooyoung, he’d seen significant others come and go, varying types from either gender that never overstayed their welcome. Fleeting relationships that never lasted more than a few months, before Wooyoung eventually tired of them – or vice versa – and he was back by Yeosang’s side soon enough.

This – whatever _this_ was – will much likely end the same; he was sure of it.

But at the back of his mind, something dark and uncertain lingered there – as if he already knew a storm was brewing in the distance.

+++

“But you didn’t.”

Mingi nearly regretted breaking the silence that had blanketed the room, like he'd woken them all from a long and deep slumber. 

After Wooyoung’s final words, nobody else spoke for a long time, and Wooyoung had wept quietly into his hands, San's arm clutching him close again as if he were trying to absorb the other's pain.

But a part of Mingi had woken up at those last words, a fire lit inside him that had previously been slowly dying into embers. Because there was a very distinct error in Wooyoung’s phrasing.

All eyes turned to him; even Wooyoung looked up, eyes swollen and bloodshot.

“You didn’t kill him,” Mingi said bravely. “He may be trapped in limbo, but he’s still alive. Which means we can still save him.”

He may have never met this elusive figure, this shadow that cloaked the rest of the group like a never-ending nightmare. But now he knew and understood who Yeosang really was, he knew one thing – Yeosang wasn’t evil; he was a victim who needed to be saved.

“But how?” Wooyoung choked out, voice trembling. “We tried. W-We tried so many times. We failed each time.”

“We failed because we were falling apart with desperation and panic,” Hongjoong suddenly spoke, voice jarring after he had been silent for so long. His gaze on Wooyoung was firm but there was a hint of apology there. “You most of all, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung shuddered at the memory as if it only happened yesterday.

“But not this time,” Hongjoong continued, and this time his eyes locked towards someone else. “This time, we’re prepared.” Slowly, all heads swivelled towards the person he was staring at.

Jongho's eyes were wide with terror, surprise, and anxiety, shifting his gaze from side to side like he was a cornered animal.

“Jongho, I spoke some very hurtful words,” Hongjoong spoke again, and this time his tone was very gentle, and there was a wealth of apology there, deep-seated regret at having hurt the other in his anger. “And for that, I’m truly sorry. If the circumstances were different, I’d make it up to you somehow, but for now...” Hongjoong's tone shifted to pleading. “We need you now, more than ever.”

Jongho had stopped trembling, but the look on his eyes still spelled out sheer terror. “B-But hyung, it hasn’t been t-tested. It might not work. It could be u-unsafe.”

“I’m willing to take that risk,” Hongjoong said firmly, eyes alight with determination. “Because I trust you, Jongho. As I trust every single one of you.”

He suddenly rose, and held out his hand to the middle of the room, palm facing down.

“We may not be able to change the past, but we can still influence the future,” he told the faces staring up at him. “Alone we’re limited, but together we're powerful. Seven...no,” He shook his head. “ _Eight_ makes one team.”

“For Yeosang,” Seonghwa rose as well, placing his hand on top of Hongjoong's.

Yunho followed shortly after. Then, San. Jongho.

Soon it was down to just Mingi and Wooyoung. And Mingi stared at those tearful eyes, and thought of the missing fragments of the story that had yet to be said – why San and Wooyoung were hot and cold with each other, why Wooyoung had been in the hospital, why Jongho had needed to join the team.

But looking into those eyes, he remembered the day he himself had fallen and wanted to do nothing else but to run away, and Yunho had reached into the darkness he’d fallen into and extended a hand to help him out.

_I know it’s tempting to run away when you feel like you’ve failed. But I want you to know that it’s never too late to try again – and we’ll always be here to help you up when you fall._

_Because you’re one of us now._

There was time to get to read the missing chapters of the story – from Wooyoung himself, if he was willing to share it.

Mingi stood, mind made up. His hand joined the pile.

Wooyoung remained seated – he hesitated, as if afraid he wasn’t welcome, or his involvement would lead to the same conclusion again.

But looking at the faces above him, there was nothing but trust, encouragement and faith there.

“Don’t give up on us, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong simply said. “Just as we won’t ever give up on you.”

And as Wooyoung’s hand finally joined theirs, their fates were sealed.

+++

San felt so drained, shoulders aching from the build-up of tension in them, body crying for respite from the continued stress today had wreaked upon it.

But there was no rest for a while – they had no time to. Too many details to discuss, too much logistics to map out, too little time to relax and plan out a strategy in a calm and unhurried manner. The clock was ticking, and every grain of sand on the hourglass determined a man's life or death.

“The first factor we need to determine is where Yeosang is and how we get to him,” Yunho was saying, and San forced this thoughts back to the present. He wasn’t the only one running on the dregs of their energy – the others were also pale and shaky with stress and weariness, but they all powered through with determination and willpower, all too aware of the consequences if they don’t.

“The where is easy,” Seonghwa murmured, and he’d gravitated to Hongjoong's side at some point, as if drawn by some invisible force that he was powerless to resist. Outwardly, they looked nothing out of the ordinary, sitting next to each other on the sofa with only their thighs touching, but San knew better – knew both of them better than that.

Something had changed there, something shifting in the air that had previously been left unsaid and unaddressed, that had finally been unlocked after their unexpected fight.

Had this been any normal day and San was his usual self, he would have wasted no time making a teasing observation or cheeky remark – and inevitably both would have turned red and blurted out denials or something along those lines which would only have confirmed his suspicions.

Instead, San swallowed down the sudden bitterness flooding his mouth. He was happy for them, he truly was, but a part of him was raging with jealousy at how it could be so _easy_ for them, how they didn’t have to go through the same anguish that San went through.

Is still going through. Present tense.

Because he hadn’t yet addressed this uneasy truce he’d reached with Wooyoung, was unwilling to open up old wounds that were still bleeding steadily from when they had last been inflicted – not when Wooyoung still looked like he had one foot on the grave, like a strong wind was enough to push him over where he stood.

And San, for all his bravado and confidence, was also unwilling to confront the cracks in his heart, the darkness that lay beneath. Once bitten, twice shy.

“He’s in his childhood home in Pohang,” Seonghwa continued. “He’s being cared for by a private team of doctors and is inaccessible unless you pass strict security clearance. It goes without saying that the house itself and the room he is in is heavily guarded and under constant surveillance.” 

Seonghwa didn’t bother elaborating that Yeosang wasn’t being hidden for his own protection, but rather to prevent the news that he was in a coma from being released to inner circles; General Kang was determined to take this secret to Yeosang's grave by any means necessary rather than lose face with the wealthy elite.

“So our first challenge is getting in,” Hongjoong mused, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Let’s say we do, what then?” Everyone turned to Mingi; the circumstances had pretty much birthed a natural camaraderie to the whole team, and he was more confident in voicing his opinions as a result. “We’d need as much time on our hands to go into the dream. And where are we going to get a PASIV?”

It seemed a silly question, considering there was the silver briefcase sitting in their work space as it usually was. But despite the easy facade that they could take it wherever they pleased, each PASIV was marked with a unique code and equipped with a GPS tracker, and every single case kept under close watch by KQ. Nobody took out a PASIV without passing several clearance checks and alerting a number of departments.

“I have one.” San finally spoke up from where he’d been silently observing. Of all the glances sent his way, Seonghwa was the only one unsurprised by this news. He was always one step ahead, after all – one of many reasons why San felt such a unique rapport to him.

“I would ask, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer,” Mingi spoke nervously on everyone else's behalf, and he looked warily at San like he was a spooked animal staring at a predator.

Which was just as well. San was unsure of how much even Seonghwa knew – for all his eyes and ears in shadowed corners – of the exact events that had transpired after Yeosang, after their failed attempts at recovering him from limbo.

That Wooyoung had lost his mind with grief, had lost his spark after that day, driven into madness by the guilt of his mistake that had taken such a heavy price in exchange.

That San had found him in an illegal dream den because he had been driven to desperation to escape his ugly reality, and had been on the verge of death from an unsafe, polluted mixture being used by whatever mafia group had been running it. And San had taken one look at him, lying cold and lifeless on that dirty dungeon, at what he’d been reduced to.

A darkness had awakened inside San that day.

And only after Wooyoung had been admitted to the hospital, pulse weak as a butterfly’s wings but _there_ , clinging to life as desperately as it could, that San had come back to that dungeon and unleashed every inch of vengeance that he knew he was capable of.

And he had watched the place burn to ground, one hand gripping the PASIV covered in blood, the blood of the men he’d had to kill to prove his point.

That day he made himself a promise, that he would hold on to that PASIV to remind himself of the lengths he had been willing to go to, how dirty he was willing his hands to get.

For Wooyoung.

Could one call it love, when it was mired with such sinister circumstances? Was it obsession?

Or was it penance for his own personal guilt? Because he knew not only had he caused the rift between Wooyoung and Yeosang, he had also caused the fundamental shift between himself and Wooyoung.

Because deep down he had been jealous, and that jealousy gave way to greed. That greed gave way to selfishness.

And he’d gripped Wooyoung's arm that day, that day they were trapped in the dream, pulling Wooyoung tight in his arms even as the other screamed and fought and scratched him.

And San had watched the life bleeding out of Yeosang's eyes, refusing to look away – because he knew it was already too late, and nothing he or Wooyoung or anyone else could do to change it.

But he’d be damned if he let Wooyoung follow him down there.

So he’d held Wooyoung tight, let him struggle as inside his head he counted down the seconds until the timer ran out.

And when he’d opened his eyes to reality, his first action was to turn his head to make sure Wooyoung also opened his. 

Even if he knew Yeosang would never open his eyes again for a long time.

He'd made his choice that day – to choose Wooyoung, even if he had to sacrifice his own heart and soul – and shoulder the inevitable rage and anger Wooyoung unleashed on him as a result.

And the other hadn’t held back, the betrayal he’d felt at San holding him back bursting out like an explosion of a volcano.

But like a helpless fool, San had simply stood there and took the abuse without a word.

_Isn’t it tiring to always be the one giving and never receiving anything back?_

And he wondered if that was how it was always going to be – him choosing Wooyoung, and Wooyoung always choosing Yeosang.

A never-ending vicious cycle that the three of them were trapped in.

And not for the first time since they’d decided to embark on this quest – through very little choice of their own – did San wonder, should they succeed, if he was prepared to go through this inevitable heartbreak a second time.

+++

The team was gathered again, but this time it wasn’t in their usual open-plan work space; out of concern that the KQ building was no longer secure and potentially had too many eyes and ears, Seonghwa had secured them a more private location, one he was sure was free of surveillance or bugs that could be listening in.

His flat.

“Jeez hyung, do you have a robot maid or something? How the hell do you keep this place so spotless,” was Jongho's observation when they were invited in, and meanwhile Mingi hoped his shoes didn’t have a speck of mud on them lest he get even a molecule of dirt on the immaculate floor. Hongjoong felt a tinge of embarrassment at Seonghwa probably thinking his place was a pig sty in comparison, even though he spent so little time in it due to working so much that he hardly had the time to make a mess.

Regardless of their initial reservations, soon they were all camped out on the living room, open packets of snacks and energy drinks strewn across the table and floor to keep their energy up, and if Seonghwa was bothered by the mess he kept his thoughts to himself.

“So here’s what we know,” Hongjoong spoke to catch everyone's attention. “Yeosang’s room is located at the very end of the corridor of the west wing, on the third floor. In order to get there, our first option is coming in via the main entrance, which would involve passing through the grounds – armed patrols passing every fifteen minutes, three guard hounds, and no less than ten CCTV cameras.”

“Jesus, does he live in fucking Fort Knox?” Yunho didn’t swear often, but when he did it was for a good reason.

“Option two is to go in via the underground tunnel, which has two security checkpoints but the long corridor leading into the underground car park only has three CCTV cameras. Once there, we need a passkey to be able to access the lift that takes us up to the main house.”

“If there are no dogs then it sounds like a better option already,” Mingi said weakly.

“Once we get to the main house, it’s a little easier,” Seonghwa took over, spreading a blueprint onto the table. “To get to the west wing we would need to pose as either household staff or guards; and there are less cameras inside the house, only one at the end each corridor. There are always guards patrolling the corridor of Yeosang's room, but for the shift change they leave a ten-minute gap every eight hours.”

“That’s our window,” Hongjoong said. 

Seonghwa nodded in confirmation before continuing with a grim set of his lips, “The final challenge is once we actually get to Yeosang. He’s left alone for the better part of the day, but the medical team comes and checks on him every eight hours. With no way of knowing how much time we need for the dream, we’re bound to get caught even if we take all the precautions of getting to that point.”

There was a short period of silence after that, the team bowing their heads in concentration and brows furrowed as they considered the information they’ve been given.

“So just to reiterate, apart from the challenge of getting seven people from A to B without arousing suspicion _or_ raising any alarms, we also need a passkey to go from underground to the main house, and now we could potentially have an army storming in on us while we’re all under,” Jongho was nearly hysterical in his rambling, words tripping over themselves in his haste to get them out.

“The passkey is sorted, if that helps,” Seonghwa replied calmly to lighten the mood in the room, and nearly laughed at the mouths dropping at the white key card he held up.

“How—where—” The question was clear in Hongjoong's wide eyes; how the hell did Seonghwa manage to secure the key when he’d spent the last few nights in Hongjoong's arms? And Hongjoong was a very light sleeper – occupational hazard.

“I got it in the post this morning,” Seonghwa replied primly, and because the question was blaringly obvious, he indulged them even though he preferred not to give away his secrets. “Plenty of disgruntled staff in the Kang household over low pay and shit hours. Greasing a few palms works wonders in this capitalist world we live in.”

“You’re scary, hyung,” Mingi muttered nervously, and Seonghwa shrugged noncommittally as if that was something he already knew.

“But Jongho’s right,” Yunho said worriedly, biting his thumbnail, a habit he had when he was stressed. “We’d need as much time as possible. Eight hours is an eternity in dream time but even that might not be enough depending on how deep we need to go. And it’s too risky to leave us all undefended; even in a standard assignment someone always guards the dreamers.”

There was barely a pause when someone already spoke up.

“I’ll do it.” 

All heads turned to San, who was looking the most serious that Mingi had ever seen him. There was a cold determination in his eyes, and Mingi was reminded that San might be a cheeky prankster for most of the time he’s known him, but beneath the façade he could easily switch to something more dangerous.

“San—” Wooyoung began, reaching for the other, but San was already shaking his head, shying away from the touch before it made contact. Wooyoung was so surprised that his hand froze, but San was already turning back to the others.

“The reality is, even if all seven of us can defend ourselves just fine in the dream space, topside only four of us have a chance in hell against armed guards,” he said softly, as if he was trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings. “Yunho, you’re great with strategy but you’re useless with a gun. Jongho, I’ve never been able to beat you in arm wrestling, but you’ve probably never even held a gun in your life. And Wooyoung…” Wooyoung felt his stomach drop at the resignation in San’s eyes.

It felt too much like a goodbye.

“It has to be you going under. It has to be you to bring Yeosang out.”

“But it would be suicide,” Wooyoung insisted, even if he knew it was useless. Even if he knew this entire mission was suicide from the onset.

But they were the only ones standing between Yeosang and death.

“I’ll do it,” San said firmly, mind made up as he saw the moment the realisation hit Wooyoung. “Just as I’m usually the distraction in assignments, I’ll distract General Kang’s goons while you guys go under.”

+++

Sleep didn’t come easily to Wooyoung that night – it never did, always consumed with nightmares and dark thoughts that choked and bound him like heavy chains, unbreakable and unyielding.

After the team had finally gone their separate ways for the night, logistics laid out and roles allocated, Wooyoung had silently gripped San’s hand as the other was about to head towards a different direction, an unspoken request.

But San had simply squeezed his hand gently, before slipping his hand off and walking away.

And Wooyoung could do nothing but watch his retreating back, wondering when they’d reached this point, if they could ever hope to go back to how it was before.

It wasn’t always like this, back in the fiery start of their relationship and early days of passion, when they’d both given as much as they took and they couldn’t get enough of each other. 

San was like a breath of fresh air – a supernova that Wooyoung sometimes struggled to look at lest he become blinded; so different from anyone else who had been in his life before, so multifaceted that everyday was like a new adventure with him.

He made Wooyoung feel _invincible_ , like the possibilities were endless and the horizon was ready to be explored, and he knew if he took one step forward into that great unknown, San would be right there behind him every step of the way.

But Yeosang…hadn’t felt the same. And Wooyoung didn’t know if it was jealousy, or anger, or resentment on the other’s behalf, that he no longer held Wooyoung’s undivided attention – but it was such a huge blimp on the face of Wooyoung’s happiness, like an overcast on an otherwise sunny day. Unexpected rain on a picnic.

And the arguments started. Yeosang had always had a sharp tongue, sarcasm abundant and knowing exactly what to say and where to hit where it hurts, but Wooyoung had only ever observed him doing it to other people; he’d never faced the full brunt of Yeosang’s wrath, didn’t know how painful those barbs could be until it was already being unleashed on him.

He retaliated just as well as he took, even as a part of him was dying, screaming out for them to stop this madness, because they were destroying years of friendship over a third person, someone Wooyoung didn’t even have a title for. San was just a guy he was sleeping with, and maybe had feelings for – but how could he possibly have the time to process his feelings when the most important person in his life was clearly so unhappy with the union?

And maybe it was an act of rebellion – Yeosang had always said he shouldn’t be so risky, but what would he know? He was a stickler for rules, always cautiously boring – but Wooyoung was different. He was willing to broaden his horizons, attempt something nobody had ever done before, like a mad scientist convinced they’d birthed a scientific breakthrough.

And so what if everyone else disagreed with him. Yeosang, certainly. But suddenly, Seonghwa was also voicing out his concern, and that meant Hongjoong would get involved – where one goes, the other follows. And Yunho didn’t understand the technicalities of it, but he had sensed the tension in the air.

Then Jongho had come into the picture, younger than him yet seemingly leagues beyond him in knowledge, and he’d felt berated like a child getting slapped on the wrist, meekly agreeing when he was ordered to dispose of it.

And he had been planning to – but then he’d caught Yeosang’s smug smile, like he was glad Wooyoung had been humiliated, like this had been his plan all along.

And Wooyoung became _angry_. And when he was angry, he was blinded it by it – couldn’t see past the rage that consumed him.

But Wooyoung wasn’t like Yeosang, preferring to hide his anger in cold silence – he was the opposite, like a fire-breathing dragon that unleashed its wrath in flames, burning everything in its vicinity.

And that day had been the breaking point.

“What’s your fucking problem? Are you jealous, is that it? That I contribute something to this team, when _you_ just got in because of your father?”

And it had been unfair, knowing full well it was a sore spot for the other, but Wooyoung _wanted_ it to hurt. He wanted Yeosang to hurt, just as he was hurting Wooyoung.

“Get a fucking grip. I know you want to delude yourself into thinking you’ve created something, but it’s sheer madness and you know it. We all fucking know it.” Yeosang’s tone had been scathing and derisive, eyes piercing with cold anger. “If you only want to hear good things, maybe you should run back to San. I’m sure he’d be happy to feed your delusions and just give you the praise you’re so desperate to hear.”

“Don’t fucking drag other people into this,” he had roared. “ _Especially_ not San. This is between you and me.”

“Why? Afraid he’ll realise what an embarrassment you’ve become?”

“He’ll probably accept me all the same, because he’s better than you. He’ll _always_ be better than you. So much better that this team doesn’t even need _you_.”

And he should have stopped, because he’d seen the wavering in Yeosang’s eyes, the heartbreak he was causing with his words, but it was too late. He was in too deep.

But Yeosang would not let him have the last word. “Don’t forget I fucking made you who you are. You were _nothing_ before you met me.” 

And he’d stormed off, leaving Wooyoung numb where he stood, those final words like a dagger in his chest, the sheer shock of it paralysing him. 

Even if he tried to deny it, Yeosang was right – he had only made it this far because of him. Without Yeosang, he’d still be mucking around in grease and oil, bottom of the totem pole with no prospects waiting for him.

But not anymore. He was successful now, he’d even created something new, out of his bare hands.

Yeosang may have brought him here, but he’d proven his worth. They just needed to give it a shot, and they would see.

Yeosang would see.

But he never did see. Because after that day, he never opened his eyes again.

And Wooyoung wondered, sinking in the quagmire of guilt and despair, if he was truly prepared to face him again if Yeosang ever did.


	11. Chapter 11

Of course, in a perfect world, everything would go according to plan.

They would waltz in with no one the wiser, or the guards would happily open all the doors for them, Yeosang would open those beautiful eyes of his and they’d all hug and run off into the sunset. And live happily ever after, or something. The end.

Rewind – they haven’t even got to that portion of the story yet. First, they had to contend with something a bit more pressing, something that required more immediate attention.

Despite leaving their most prized unit to their own devices majority of the time, even KQ would notice that an entire team had suddenly gone rogue. Coincidentally after a certain general and his battalion had just paid them a visit.

In a perfect world, nobody would ask questions, everyone would just brush off the incident and get on with their day.

Failing that, there was always the second option.

“Seonghwa, are you _crazy_? Put your fucking gun away,” Hongjoong's hissed demand forced Seonghwa’s thoughts back into the present, where he was currently staring down the barrel of his gun.

The gun he’d automatically pulled out and pointed on reflex, at the man who had suddenly walked in on them sneaking into Hongjoong's office to steal some documents.

Eden raised his arms slowly, as if he knew better than to try and pull rank on the person pointing a gun at him. Truth be told, it probably wouldn’t have worked either way.

Seonghwa acknowledged that Hongjoong had a special relationship with Eden; he was well aware that Eden used to be Hongjoong's senior in the army, and was the main person who had influenced Hongjoong’s decision to join KQ. Hongjoong clearly held the man in high regard and trusted and respected him as a mentor.

And Eden's personal influence and rank in KQ was nothing to scoff at; testament to that fact was when he had stepped in and saved all their skins when Yeosang fell into limbo, Wooyoung had been admitted into the hospital, and what was left of the team had been falling apart like a house of cards.

Driven to desperation, Hongjoong had willingly shed his pride, and pleaded his mentor to save them.

Eden had been their last line of defence against imminent arrest – had appeared as KQ’s representative when General Kang demanded a sacrificial scapegoat from the team in exchange for his son’s vegetative state. And he’d firmly spun out a tale that Yeosang had been overwhelmed by militarised projections in the dream, due to the complexity of the assignment they had been dealing with and the mental volatility of the target. It was an unfortunate accident, however it hadn’t been any of the team’s fault.

And when that was quietly wrapped up, he’d assured KQ that the unit could carry on operating despite being two members down. They had a complete roster – they just needed a temporary chemist.

Jongho had readily volunteered, casting aside the bright future awaiting him at the end of his internship – and KQ had wasted no time hastily bringing him in so the team could resume functioning, despite the deep-seated scars they now carried from the string of events.

But the slapdash patchwork was a temporary fix, a band-aid solution; Seonghwa had known in the back of his mind that the situation they were now in was inevitable. General Kang was not the type of man to shrug his shoulders and let this type of transgression pass; and when even someone as accomplished and stalwartly reliable as Hongjoong developed a shade that would lead to a string of failures, KQ was no longer willing to compromise. 

And thus, the groundwork was set in motion to quietly withdraw their best asset – Hongjoong – out of the inevitable crossfire and find another purpose for him, all while leaving the rest of their pawns for death. They were just one step too late, with General Kang unexpectedly advancing with every intention of taking Hongjoong down with them, perhaps out of some bizarre sense of punishment for his peculiar obsession of Hongjoong leaving the army.

“I don’t know what you kids are up to – and if I did, I doubt you’ll let me leave this room alive,” Eden spoke slowly when Seonghwa refused to lower his gun, staring at him unblinkingly like he was prepared to be here all day if he had to. “What I’m curious to know is what you plan to do _after_ you succeed. Even if you manage to revive Kang Yeosang, General Kang would never rest until he hunted every single one of you down.”

“He can certainly try,” Seonghwa let his true form bleed into his voice; the stone-cold killer that was his identity before he’d retired it to join the team, a man who assassinated targets regardless of who they were as long as he received a big pile of money in exchange.

This is not the first time he’d had to scrub his name clean, and this wouldn’t be the last. As soon as Yunho had made that phone call informing him and Hongjoong that General Kang had stepped foot into the KQ building, Seonghwa had already begun the foundations for the team’s exit strategy. His network was vast, after all, and he had more than a few favours he could call upon.

It wouldn’t be easy to do it for eight people, but he’d be damned if that would make him shy away from the challenge.

And once the ruckus had died down, he’d bet such a charming figure like General Kang had garnered quite a few enemies in his lifetime who would be happy to pay the price for his head. 

And if not, Seonghwa was happy to do it _pro bono._ He’d never killed someone as high in rank as a general, but it was never too late to add one to his résumé. 

A powerful man was still a man, after all, and he would bleed just like everyone else.

“Hongjoong,” Eden finally addressed the other who stood silently after his initial request. Hongjoong undoubtedly considered himself privileged to be in a unique position of having Seonghwa's full devotion and loyalty, but he wasn’t delusional enough to believe he could influence how Seonghwa treated everyone else. “You must be aware that there’s no going back, if you do this.”

And Hongjoong did know. Of course he’d compartmentalised and analysed all the possible scenarios and the inevitable outcomes that they would all lead to. 

The truth was, there was no happy ending for them – but he’d be damned if he’d put his head down in defeat and have a team member's blood on his hands knowing he could have tried everything in his power to prevent it.

“You told me that day that if we had failed the mission, the whole team would be dismissed and I was the only one KQ was willing to save,” Hongjoong finally spoke after a long pause. He looked his mentor straight in the eyes, shoulders straight and unwavering. “But without my team, there is no Kim Hongjoong. Just as a captain should be at the frontlines in the battlefield, I'd rather die fighting with my men than abandon them.”

A part of Hongjoong was devastated that it had come down to this again – just like that day Seonghwa had saved his life, he and his team left for dead by the people he trusted the most.

Slowly, he raised his hand in a salute. It felt like the end of a chapter, the final closure of this period of his life. 

Hongjoong didn't know if he’d ever see Eden again, but he wanted to ensure he parted with him on good terms either way.

They left just as quietly as they came, and whether it was because Seonghwa still had his gun ready up until they were already miles away, or the other had accepted this conclusion, Eden never came after them.

+++

After they left the KQ base for what was likely the last time, there was no verbal discussion made, but somehow it was naturally assumed that Seonghwa would spend the night in Hongjoong’s place, whether it was because his house was closer or because Seonghwa inexplicably already had a packed bag of extra clothes in his car (for emergencies, he’d said vaguely). 

Regardless of the reasons, Seonghwa looked right at home standing in his sparsely furnished, barely used flat, and Hongjoong didn’t question it further.

As the day of reckoning loomed closer and closer, he found it increasingly difficult to let Seonghwa out of his sight for even a minute, wanting him close and savouring every second with him as if it would be their last.

He thought they’d be too exhausted to do anything more than sleep, but they had naturally gravitated towards each other once they slipped into bed, as if they were both starving for the other's touch and were desperate to fill the empty void inside them. It was a lot less hurried than their usual lovemaking, Hongjoong treating Seonghwa like he was delicate and breakable despite fully knowing that it couldn’t be further from the truth.

In contrast, Seonghwa drank the attention like he was insatiable, clutching at Hongjoong like he’d disappear into smoke if he loosened his hold even slightly. And finally when they were sated, they held each other close, both unwilling to let the other go even for just a moment.

They looked into each other's eyes, even as they were both consumed with thoughts of what lay ahead – the logistics and possibilities and consequences of every action they needed to take swirling in their minds. And Hongjoong drank in Seonghwa's beautiful features, his round eyes and straight nose and soft lips, and tried to map every unique curve and line in his mind and heart as if trying to leave an imprint in his soul.

His heart was bursting with a hidden emotion, the words at the tip of his tongue and desperate to be released, but he held it back – because they were about to jump into danger, and Hongjoong couldn’t give him those words yet, not until he knew they had finally reached the light at the end of this dark tunnel.

And Seonghwa looked back at him with eyes so deep with understanding, as if he knew and heard all the words Hongjoong wasn’t yet willing to say, and was happy to wait patiently until they were finally spoken.

Hongjoong drew their lips together, and they kissed deeply for a long time, and Hongjoong knew whatever outcome this final frontier had for them, he was determined to keep the now-owner of his heart and soul safe, and would die trying if he had to.

+++

The day had arrived. The stage was set. Everyone was in their positions.

As Hongjoong surveyed the faces around him, not for the first time he wondered if this was worth it, if he was willing to risk it all when it seemed the odds were so stacked against them.

Especially now that he had someone to live for, someone he wanted to grow old with, someone he wanted to wake up next to every day for the rest of his life.

But he remembered that Yeosang hadn’t even begun living his life, before they took the opportunity away from him. And Hongjoong reminded himself that it wasn’t about him, or them – it was about Yeosang, and the price he paid on their behalf.

Today was the day the debt would be repaid.

The van they were in slowly rumbled to a stop, and Hongjoong forced his thoughts back to the present. The manor was still a distance away, illuminated by the moonlight on top of a hill. In a few minutes, they would reach the underground tunnel, and it was show time.

San slowly rose, and all eyes turned to him; he was dressed completely in black, even a mask over his nose and mouth, and was in full cloaking mode.

“This is my stop,” his voice was muffled from behind the mask. He looked at all of them silently for a moment, expression difficult to gauge in the darkness. “Best of luck.”

There was no time for more words, or heartfelt hugs, even if this could be the last time they would ever see each other.

And as San jumped out the van, Wooyoung suddenly burst from his seat – and Hongjoong nearly stopped him, because every second was precious, they had a strict schedule that they needed to follow to the letter – but the tears in Wooyoung’s eyes made the words die in his mouth.

“Sannie—” San knew without turning that it was Wooyoung, and he clenched his hand into a fist, willing himself to stay strong.

“Go back, Wooyoung-ah,” he responded without turning around. “We don’t have time.” Every second passing was crucial.

“I-If we make it, promise me I’ll see you again,” Wooyoung whispered, and the sheer desperation was clear in his wavering voice. “Promise me this isn’t goodbye.”

And San could no longer resist; he turned and drank in the sight of Wooyoung one last time, even as his heart screamed in agony. 

Because this was his final goodbye – regardless of the outcome, whether death or life awaited either of them at the end of this tunnel, he was closing this chapter for good.

“I can’t,” he said softly, nearly inaudible in the cold night. “I can’t promise that.”

And Wooyoung’s tears fell endlessly, but San didn’t brush them away as he always did – that wasn’t his place anymore.

“ _Please_ ,” he sobbed. “Sannie, please.”

San knew any second Hongjoong or Seonghwa would come to interrupt them, likely with an apology written all over their faces, because they needed to move now, there was no time to waste.

He was already tugging his left glove off before he could stop himself, and Wooyoung’s eyes immediately caught the gold ring on his finger. Before he could speak, San was already sliding it off, and taking two steps to lift the other's left hand to slide it on.

It fit perfectly, as San knew it would.

It was the last piece that San had wanted to keep, to remind him of the other, even if he’d willed himself to shed every memory.

Perhaps this was why. Only to give it away, at the very last time they would be in front of each other like this.

And he knew Wooyoung had questions on the tip of his tongue, but San was already tugging his glove back on and stepping back.

“This is my totem,” he simply said. “To keep track of reality. It’s yours now – to help you find your way back.”

And with those final words, he ran into the canopy of trees and let the darkness envelop him.

He never once looked back.

+++

Hongjoong’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear himself think, but he forced himself to keep a calm demeanour, willed his instinct to take over for this dangerous mission, the impending risk of death breathing down his neck.

There was no room for panic or hesitation; even if it had been years since Hongjoong had stood in the middle of warzone, this was clear in his mind as if it was only yesterday since he left his old life behind.

They passed the two checkpoints easily, hidden in the back of a delivery van that contained the manor’s weekly groceries. Once the van was being unloaded, they were already hidden in what looked like chilled storage boxes from the outside, cramped and barely able to move with two people each but the pins and needles were a small price to pay to stay hidden from all the cameras.

Once inside the lift, the passkey was used by Seonghwa’s internal undercover spy, and Hongjoong could only keep holding his breath as they were wheeled into the large walk-in refrigerators of the kitchen. As soon as the door swung shut, Hongjoong and Mingi quickly broke out of their storage box, hurriedly getting dressed in the guard uniforms that had been placed there for them.

Two more check points – they got through to the west wing without much fuss, even as household staff eyed their large trolleys – containing four people absolutely crammed together – but Hongjoong kept his gaze cold and gripped his large automatic rifle pointedly, and that hushed any questions or concerns that anyone might have had.

Hongjoong counted down the seconds in his head, and just as the clock chimed at the hour, they spotted the patrolling guards pass and heading for the lift, signifying the shift change.

It was now or never. They made sure to keep their pace steady as they wheeled the trolleys all the way down the end of corridor, making every effort to ensure the sound of the wheels wouldn’t raise any alarm. From the cameras, they looked like two guards going about their business, and if anyone asked what was in the trolleys, they would say it was a supply delivery.

And if anyone wanted to _look into_ the trolleys, then Hongjoong would shoot them in the face.

But the corridor was deserted in this time of night, and soon they reached the room at the end, Hongjoong hanging back to check the corridor as Mingi pushed the trolleys inside.

By some miracle, they made it here in one piece – but the true test was just about to begin.

Hongjoong refused to look at the figure lying on the bed, refused to let the sight waver his confidence; he simply stared at the faces before him, trying to tell them to be strong, be brave, even as he couldn’t speak the words. They couldn’t risk being overheard, so they had to stay silent from this point; every person had been briefed on their roles several times, to ensure everyone had a clear understanding of what they needed to do.

Yunho and Jongho immediately went to work preparing the PASIV, and Wooyoung was silently staring at Yeosang, face pale with fear and uncertainty. Mingi gripped his shoulder softly, even if he knew it was a meaningless gesture of support.

Yeosang simply looked asleep; his natural roots had grown rapidly in the last few months, and only half of his hair was still blonde, lying limply on his shoulders. But his sunken-in cheeks and grey pallor showed a man barely clinging to life; and Mingi felt even more determined to succeed.

Behind them, Seonghwa waited until the others were distracted before he slowly walked over to Hongjoong. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, desperate to say something, _anything_ before they plunged into this deep end, before this could be the last time they’d ever see each other alive.

Seonghwa had to bite back his pain, his panic when Hongjoong calmly decided to be the one to stay at the top, to be their final line of defence, to be their knight and shield against the potential attack of General Kang’s guards.

San might be the distraction for when shit hit the fan, but they still needed someone to guard them inside the room, couldn’t take the risk of potentially being shot in their sleep. And with no way of knowing how many layers deep the dreamers would need to go, they could only spare one person. 

And San had been right, out of all of them Hongjoong was one of four who was capable of wielding a weapon, and could be depended on to hold the dreamers’ lives in his hands and keep it safe even if he had to give his own in exchange.

And Seonghwa had been desperate to stay behind as well, stay with him, because if it meant dying then Seonghwa was willing to take that risk as long as they were together.

But Hongjoong had declined his request, reminded him that Yeosang was militarised and the dreamers would need someone to defend them as well, and the best person to do that was Seonghwa.

And he’d had to acquiesce. Because they all needed to do what must be done, in order to finally save the one they all left behind.

Seonghwa gripped Hongjoong’s hands tightly, trying to stop his tears even as they fell – he never even got to say the words he so desperately wanted to unleash.

But then Hongjoong’s mouth was moving wordlessly, mouthing the words over and over in the silent room.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

And Mingi was coming to collect him, and Seonghwa had no choice but to go, each step further away from Hongjoong feeling one step closer to the edge.

Even as his eyes slowly slipped shut, Hongjoong never broke his gaze away from his, and Seonghwa prayed to someone, _anyone_ up there that Seonghwa could look into those eyes again when he next opened his.


	12. Chapter 12

They opened their eyes to the same ceiling they had closed their eyes to.

All five of them stared at each other for a moment, mirrored expressions of confusion on all their faces, when Seonghwa noticed that both Hongjoong and Yeosang were missing.

“This is the first layer of the dream,” he confirmed, already dreaming up a gun. “The first level is this manor.”

Which meant he’d have to contend with the same soldiers they’d bypassed in the real world, but this time Seonghwa could dream up as many weapons as he needed for his arsenal. Unlike Hongjoong, stuck with one rifle to protect himself and all of them.

With this thought at the back of his mind, he started building a standard bulletproof shelter around the rest of the team, fully concentrated on his task even as he spoke, “He won’t be in this level. You guys need to go deeper.” He turned to give them a brave smile, trying to drum up their courage – the faces that stared back at him were of terror.

“I’ll watch over you all,” he said confidently. “Good luck.”

As the next oldest, Yunho seemed to have made the decision for the rest, nodding back firmly and already unspooling the PASIV wires to hand to the others.

Seonghwa waited until they were all under before he dreamt himself up a bazooka. Hey, mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, right?

He had no idea how long he’d be here, but time was irrelevant in the face of what every single one of them had to go through.

So he gripped the bazooka tightly, starting the internal timer in his head, even as he could already hear the pounding of boots slowly closing in from the distance.

+++

They were standing in their old workspace, Yunho holding one of his 3D models and wondering what exactly he had been doing before he’d picked it up.

He looked up slowly, and Jongho and Wooyoung were standing next to each other in their mini laboratory, looking just as lost in thought as he was. On one of the stretchers, next to the PASIV, Mingi was staring at the ceiling like he was wondering how he got there.

It took a long time before Yunho could snap himself out of it. It was only the second layer of the dream, but with how strong the sedatives in the blend were, it was difficult to keep track of what they were doing. Which meant it would only get more and more difficult the deeper they had to go.

“This is the second level,” he reminded firmly to alert the others. “This is the KQ base but we’re still in the dream. We need to focus, guys.”

Jongho shook his head like he was trying not to fall asleep, and Yunho couldn’t blame him – his own brain felt foggy, like he was in a trance.

“Do you think he’d be here?” Mingi had risen from the stretcher and had made his way over to them, and his gaze was sharp as he asked Wooyoung. Yunho was so used to seeing a carefree Mingi that he was suddenly reminded that the other had been a soldier once upon a time, and could probably force himself to focus on the task on hand much quicker than the rest of them.

Wooyoung considered the question for a moment, before he slowly shook his head. “We can look, but somehow I doubt he’d be here. We need to go deeper.”

It would only get more and more unstable as they plunged deeper into the abyss, but there was determination in everyone’s eyes.

“I’ll stay at this level,” Yunho volunteered. “I’m not great with guns, but I think I can build a maze complicated enough to buy us some time from the office worker projections.”

They couldn’t help but laugh at this, even as the remaining three exchanged nervous glances as they headed for the PASIV to go under one more time.

Yunho waited for their eyes to close before he rapidly changed the landscape, letting his instinct take over as the walls rose and fell as far as he could see, extending the maze to span hundreds of miles and adding dead ends, winding twists and turns and traps.

And after that was done, there was nothing else to do but wait. Yunho gripped a gun, trying to control the tremor in his hand even as he chuckled nervously in the silence because San was bloody right, he really was useless with a gun.

But if his maze was good enough to stand the test of time, he hoped he never had to use it.

+++

Wooyoung was holding his wrench, already covered in grease and halfway through repairing the engine in front of him when he realised what Jongho was asking.

“What do you mean, where are we?” he asked exasperatedly; he was trying to focus on what he was doing, needed to have this repaired before the end of his shift. He was starving as well, maybe he’d grab some ramen on the way home – payday wasn’t for another few days and he’d already spent most of his money on paying his electricity bill.

“Where are we?” Jongho insisted, impatient for his response.

“We’re in the air force base,” he responded absently, trying to go back to focusing on what he was doing when a hand suddenly gripped his. He looked up with a raised eyebrow, and had to tilt his head all the way back to look up at the tall boy next to him.

“This is a dream, Wooyoung,” the boy spoke, and Wooyoung’s brow furrowed – it took him several minutes to understand. His brain couldn’t even register _who_ this was, much less what he was saying.

Then it hit him. He dropped the wrench immediately. “This is the third level. Mingi.”

Mingi nodded, and looked relieved as he released Wooyoung’s arm.

“Will he be here?” Jongho was saying, and he was biting his lip in worry, knowing full well it was getting harder and harder to keep track of how far they’ve gotten, or how much further they need to go.

Wooyoung forced himself to focus. The air force base was the first place they’d met, but…

“He won’t be here,” he hoped he sounded as convinced as he felt. “He hated this place. He couldn’t wait to leave – only became a pilot because his father ordered him to.”

“That means we have to go deeper,” Mingi confirmed, and he was already making his way to one of the KAI T-50s in the garage, climbing up easily with his long limbs, not even needing a ladder like Wooyoung usually would. “Come on up. I’m taking you guys to the skies, then you guys will have to keep going.”

There was no time to question it, and Jongho was already pushing the ladder towards the cockpit and climbing it with the PASIV, and Wooyoung had no choice but to follow.

“Do you even know how to fly?” he asked exasperatedly, even as he was already unspooling the wires from the PASIV. He knew Mingi had a military background as did majority of them, but he didn’t know the specific branch or what position he used to have.

“Trust me, I was in the military,” Mingi confirmed, tapping various buttons on the control panel with no rhyme or reason behind them; he must have some clue though since the engine switched on with a hum.

“You were in the navy,” Jongho said exasperatedly, even as he plunged a cannula in his vein.

“I’ve watched Youtube videos, if that counts,” was Mingi’s cheerful response, and there had been no time to discuss it further, Wooyoung pressing the plunger before Jongho could voice out his disbelief.

Mingi put the plane into taxi, smoothly taking it into the skies. He didn’t bother correcting Jongho – the navy has planes and naval flight officers as well. 

He might not be as great of a pilot as the air force, but to even be up for consideration for the Marine Corps, one was required to have a long list of skills.

And in a weird, twisted way, he’d always been curious to know how it felt to die in a plane crash. _One thing to tick off my bucket list_ , he thought to himself, even as he saw planes already beginning to follow behind them.

+++

They were in a desert.

Barren, sloping dunes the colour of gold as far as the eyes could see – the sun was directly above them, its bright rays bathing the harsh landscape so radiantly it was nearly blinding.

They should be roasting in this heat with no shade to perch under, throats should be parched with thirst and immediately feeling the effects of dehydration. 

But there were none of those awful sensations, just a hazy, dream-like feeling of not quite being sure why they were there and how they got there.

Dream-like…

Jongho’s eyes snapped open from where they had been starting to close. “This is a dream.”

He immediately shook Wooyoung’s arm – it took several attempts for the other to finally look at him. Wooyoung looked so far gone, like he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep forever.

Jongho forced himself to remember why there were here – and what they were here for.

Silently breathing out an apology, he pulled his arm back and punched Wooyoung straight in the jaw.

The reaction was immediate. “ _Ow_! What the _fuck_!”

Jongho interrupted before the other could work up his indignation. “Now that I have your attention,” he stated calmly, standing from where they’d been lying limply on the sand and dusting himself off. “Focus – this is the fourth layer.” 

He placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the endless stretch of sand beyond them, stretching out to miles as far as his eyes could see. “Any ideas where we are? The other locations have all been pretty easy to guess so far.”

Despite his brain being fuzzy and his jaw still throbbing from where he’d been sucker-punched, Wooyoung forced himself to focus as ordered, also rising to his feet. “Right. So first level was Yeosang’s childhood home; second was the KQ base. Third…”

What was the third? Man, his brain was so foggy he could barely think straight.

“Third level was the air force base, where you and Yeosang must have met.” Jongho was looking a lot more level-headed than him, but then again that had always been the case. “You said we wouldn’t find him there, so we had to go another layer down. And I hate to burst your bubble, but…” Jongho gestured at the wide expanse of nothingness surrounding them. “This looks like the end of the road for us. There aren’t even any projections here.”

Wooyoung blew out a breath, absolutely stumped at this point. His mental capacity might be stretched to its limits at the moment, but he was pretty certain Yeosang had never been to the desert. He’d barely even left the country, had spent his entire life orchestrated by his father’s instructions, like a trapped bird in a cage—

“This is a mirage,” he was saying before he could stop himself. Jongho was looking confused but stayed silent, prompting him to continue. “This desert – it’s just an illusion. It looks like the end, but he just wants us, or whoever is coming after him, to think that.”

Because he’d never considered it before – what if Yeosang didn’t _want_ to leave? What if he just wanted to stay here, instead of going back to reality where he was little more than a puppet that his father controlled? 

Where his best friend had already replaced him with someone else?

Where his team had betrayed and abandoned him?

“Say you’re right,” Jongho said, interrupting his thoughts. “Say you go one more level down – what then? So far we’ve had at least one person to keep some semblance of rational thinking.” Jongho’s fear was written all over his face. “After this, there’s no one for you, hyung. How will you keep track of what’s real and what isn’t anymore?”

And that was the true test of limbo. It was just endless pit that just kept swallowing you up with no hope of return.

Jongho was right. So far in every other level, one of the others had been there to remind Wooyoung he was dreaming. Each time he’d already been swallowed by the illusion – there was no hope for him alone. He was the reason why every single one of them were in this situation, yet he was the weakest link.

Pathetic.

He clenched his fists tightly, and something digging into his skin distracted him enough to unfurl his hand and raise it up.

There was a gold ring on his left hand, on his ring finger. Where had that come from?

“Hyung, you’re _married_?” Jongho’s sudden bafflement brought the memory back in full force.

_It’s yours now – to help you find your way back._

The tears were flowing down his cheeks before he could stop them; he brushed them away quickly.

“It’s a totem – San’s totem,” he whispered. The gold band glinted brightly under the sunlight.

“What’s a totem?” 

Wooyoung often forgot that Jongho had no prior experience to dream sharing, but the question helped him re-focus on the mission so he was happy to explain. “It’s a unique item; western teams developed it as a way to keep track of reality. It could be any item of your choosing, and the concept behind it is that it’s supposed to remind you that you’re in a dream.”

He kissed the ring softly, praying that it – and San – would give him the strength he needed to keep going.

“This will help me keep track,” he finally said to Jongho. “I have to keep going.”

+++

“You know, I’ve always wondered something.”

Yeosang turned at the question, cheeks puffed like a hamster from the mouthful of chicken he had just shoved in his mouth.

Wooyoung couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked, wiping the sauce stain on the side of his lip affectionately.

“Wondered what?” Yeosang mumbled around the food, sounding more like _mumdered fat_?

Wooyoung was staring at how the other’s golden hair was illuminated like a halo in the sunshine. “How’d you convince your father to let you bleach your hair?”

And it’s true, he had always been curious – Yeosang’s entire life seemed so carefully engineered, every waking minute controlled by the great General Kang, like he was raising a robot soldier rather than his own child. It was part of the reason why Yeosang caught Wooyoung’s eye for the first time; the only blonde in a sea of natural-haired solders and sticking out like a sore thumb in more ways than one.

“It was my reward when I passed the pilot exam,” Yeosang explained, shrugging as he finally swallowed the food inside his mouth, already eagerly reaching for another piece. “I had followed all his wishes to the letter, without question – I just wanted something for myself for once.”

The way he phrased it made it seem like there was more to that story, but Yeosang didn’t elaborate, simply looked contemplative as he stared at the piece of chicken in his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your appetite,” Wooyoung said, feeling apologetic. He never brought up Yeosang’s father if he could help it, knowing it was always a sore subject for the other. Hell, it was a sore subject for him as well.

“It’s cool,” Yeosang responded kindly, stuffing the chicken in his mouth as if to brush off the sudden sombre mood. “I wasn’t planning to go that drastic, but the stylist I went to somehow was convinced that I could be an idol, so I guess he wanted to make me look like one as well.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but laugh at that. “An _idol_?” He tried to imagine the other as a singer and dancer entertaining people on a stage, and found that it wasn’t that hard to believe. “I mean, you’ve got the looks for it. You’d be the group visual.”

“Are you flirting with me, Jung Wooyoung?” Yeosang teased, pulling the chicken closer to him. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I’m not sharing my precious chicken.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Wouldn’t dream of coming between you and your true love.”

“That’s what I thought. And anyway, what would your wife say?”

His eyes, just on the verge of closing, shot open at that.

“What did you say?”

Yeosang was still munching away, and at his question, gestured aimlessly towards his hand. “Or is it husband? I can never tell which one you prefer.”

Wooyoung was still confused, but he looked down at his hand, at the gold band on his ring finger.

When he looked up, he was no longer sitting in a field next to Yeosang eating chicken, but Yeosang was in front of him anyway.

And this time, he looked angry.

“Get a fucking grip. I know you want to delude yourself into thinking you’ve created something, but it’s sheer madness and you know it. We all fucking know it.” His tone was scathing and derisive, eyes piercing with cold anger. “If you only want to hear good things, maybe you should run back to San. I’m sure he’d be happy to feed your delusions and just give you the praise you’re so desperate to hear.”

Wooyoung’s head swam with confusion, blinking helplessly at this sudden barrage.

“What are you talking about?”

Yeosang blinked back, uncertainty replacing his anger for a moment, before he visibly steeled himself. “Don’t play dumb. Are you trying to piss me off? Is that it?”

But Wooyoung was still baffled by how he got here. Wasn’t he just having chicken just now? How did they go from that field to a corridor of the KQ building?

“How did we get here?”

His questions were clearly derailing Yeosang’s anger, who was staring back at him with just as much confusion now, but still looking unhappy and still defensive from whatever it was that they’d been arguing about.

“If you’re pulling my leg, this is a new low for you,” Yeosang hissed. “ _You’re_ the one who told me I just got in because of my father. That I contribute nothing to the team.”

Even as Wooyoung’s brain felt like mush, he recoiled at the words. “That’s not true. I would never say that.”

Yeosang was stepping back now, looking at Wooyoung almost with fear. “You did. That’s what you told me just now. And you said…” He looked heartbroken all of a sudden. “A-And you said…San was better than me. That he’ll always be better than me. That the team no longer needed me, because he was there.”

And suddenly it was crystal clear.

It was that day. The day their lives had been turned upside down.

This was a memory of that day.

“And you told me…not to forget that you made me who I was,” Wooyoung whispered, because he remembered the words like it was only yesterday. “That I was nothing before I met you.”

Yeosang was taking another step back, despair and anguish spelled all over his features. “I didn’t mean that. I never wanted to say that. I was angry, and I was hurt.”

Wooyoung took a hesitant step forward. “So was I. So was I, Yeosang-ah,” he tried to keep his voice soft, trying not to spook the other. “I’m sorry.”

But Yeosang was frozen, staring at him helplessly even as tears began to spill down his cheeks. “This isn’t what happened. This isn’t how this conversation ended.”

“This isn’t a memory, Yeosang,” Wooyoung insisted, because he finally understood. “It’s me. I’ve come for you.”

At those words, Yeosang bolted, the dark corridor swallowing him.

+++

Wooyoung was running.

After Yeosang suddenly bolted, he’d wasted no time in chasing after him, but the other had always been more athletic, quickly outrunning him and disappearing further and further into the abyss.

His lungs felt like they were on the verge of collapse, but he kept going, sheer willpower powering his legs.

“ _Kang Yeosang_!” He yelled into the darkness, sheer desperation filling his voice. “ _Come out and face me_!”

He’d be damned if he’d let the other keep running away.

And suddenly, there was light at the end of the corridor, and he used up the last of his strength, as the light slowly grew closer and closer—

A hall of masks. Endless rows as far as his eyes could see.

He stared at the creepy faces, trying to tamp down his fear. Most of them were unrecognisable, a mixture of genders and ages, no particular rhyme or reason to their order.

Wooyoung walked slowly through the maze, hoping he was heading towards the right direction and struggling to keep his nerves together.

As he kept walking, his brow furrowed as some of the masks began to ping his brain in recognition…

That was when Yeosang discovered that he could forge for the first time—that one, the last target Yeosang had forged before he had been replaced as the main forger—

And as more and more faces started to become familiar, Wooyoung’s pace picked up as well; he ran and ran, until he finally reached the centre of the room.

Before him was a giant bird cage, its size and width spanning nearly twelve feet.

And right in the middle sat Yeosang, head bowed quietly.

Wooyoung approached slowly, gripping the cold iron bars of the cage.

Yeosang didn’t look up. “Why did you come?”

“I’ve come for you,” Wooyoung tightened his hold on the bars, as if his strength could bend them. “I’ve come to take you home, Yeosang-ah.”

Yeosang finally looked up, and his eyes were sunken and dull with such despair that Wooyoung felt his heart break. “There’s nothing for me out there.”

Wooyoung struggled to see past the tears freely falling down his cheeks. “You have me. You have the rest of the team. You’re not alone.”

“Am I not?” Yeosang’s voice was whisper soft. “You don’t need me anymore. None of you do.” He snorted out a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t know how long I’ve been stuck here, but even I know when I’ve been abandoned. And I even tried to be productive at the beginning, you know?”

Tears fell freely down Yeosang's cheeks, looking so lost and broken that Wooyoung felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. “I practiced my forging so hard, so you guys would find me useful again. So you guys would accept me as part of the team. But an eternity has passed, and there was no longer any point. Nobody ever came for me.”

Wooyoung could barely get the words out past his sobs. “I-I-I’m sorry I took so long, Yeosang. But I was weak, and I wasn’t strong enough to come until now. But not a day went by that I wasn’t thinking about you. _All_ of us are desperate to save you.”

“Why? You don’t need me,” Yeosang insisted, curling up into himself. “You don’t need me.” He repeated the words as if he was trying to convince himself.

“Of course I do,” Wooyoung insisted. “You’re my best friend, Yeosang-ah. There’s no one else like you.”

“Not even San?” Yeosang sounded wary now.

“San isn’t my best friend.” He doesn’t even remember who San is, the name as muddled as the rest of his memories, but he couldn’t focus on that right now. “You are. And you always will be.”

Slowly, the cage opened with a rumbling groan, and Wooyoung didn’t waste time to rush towards the figure still sitting on the floor, embracing him as tightly as he could.

“Isn’t it too late to go back?” Yeosang sounded helpless and broken, even as he gripped Wooyoung back just as tightly. “I don’t even know how. What if there’s nothing waiting for us up there?”

Wooyoung drew back, cupping the other’s face and wiping away the tears falling down his cheeks. “We have to trust the others,” he said firmly. “We have to trust the team. Do you trust us, Yeosang-ah?”

Yeosang could only nod helplessly, hands rising to cup Wooyoung’s hands; as their hands touched, Yeosang blinked.

“Did you get married?”

Wooyoung blinked at this question. He feels a distinct sense of déjà vu – like this isn’t the first time he’s been asked.

Slowly, he lowered his hands, and stared at the gold ring on his finger.

The memory, that had been so clear before, was so distant now, impossible to reach.

“I don’t remember anymore,” he mumbled, and he doesn’t know why his heart wrenched in agony at that.

“Maybe it says something on the inside,” Yeosang said gently at the look on his face. “Sometimes people put inscriptions on rings.”

He’d never taken it off, as far as he was aware – doesn’t even remember putting it on. Or if someone put it on for him.

Slowly, he slid it off, turning it around his fingers to see if there was an inscription as Yeosang suggested. Both of their heads bowed as they analysed it intently.

“What does that say? A…Ami? Aras?” Yeosang was mumbling. “I think it might be Latin?”

Wooyoung could barely see past the tears. “It says _Amicus ad aras_ ,” he whispered. The side of his ribcage suddenly throbbed as if responding to the call, right where the tattoo was etched on his skin. “I had it tattooed after we both joined ATEEZ.”

And suddenly the memories all came rushing back. San tracing the words on his skin whenever they were in bed; mapping each letter with his lips.

“What does it mean?” Yeosang was asking, even as Wooyoung was slipping the ring back on.

“It means _friends to the very end._ ” Wooyoung cupped Yeosang’s cheeks again, pressing their foreheads together. It was time. “Do you trust me, Yeosang-ah?”

Their eyes met, and Yeosang nodded firmly.

“Always.”

+++

Wooyoung opened his eyes to absolute chaos.

His mouth felt like cotton had been stuffed in it, throat as dry as a desert, head absolutely pounding.

He wasn’t sure if it was the splitting headache, or the absolute pandemonium surrounding him.

“ _There’s no time! Grab him_!” Somebody was yelling, barely audible from the deafening racket of gunfire.

Then he was being lifted from where he’d been flat on his back on the bed, and he could barely lift his head as he fell limply against Yunho's broad back. He couldn’t speak, could only stare blearily at his surroundings as his brain struggled to take on everything that was happening around him.

He’d died more times than he’d care to remember. Two of which was through concrete ceilings collapsing on him. One of them was through an exploding bomb.

And he distinctly remembered one of them was a plane crash. How or why he was in a plane escaped him, as did a lot of other things. His brain felt like a half-finished puzzle, shadowy gaps of forgotten memories.

But all that was irrelevant – was this finally reality? Did he make it out?

Did Yeosang?

Slowly, he forced himself to focus, just as Yunho rose with him still on his back. From the higher vantage point, his brain slowly registered what was happening.

Hongjoong, rapidly firing a rifle.

Seonghwa, shouting at them with an urgent, wild look in his eyes, whatever he was saying a garbled mumble to Wooyoung’s foggy hearing.

Jongho, packing up the PASIV hurriedly.

And finally…Mingi – bending down to lift the limp body on the bed, the figure unable to even lift his head up.

But those beautiful brown eyes were staring right back at Wooyoung.

_They made it. They bloody made it_.

And Wooyoung could only cling helplessly as Yunho started running, and if Yunho noticed his neck dampening with Wooyoung's tears, there was no time to stop and ask.

In the distance, Wooyoung could hear the deafening blasts of explosions, and as he lifted his head to look outside the windows as they passed, he saw the night sky illuminated by an orange starburst.

Like a supernova – so beautiful it was blinding.


	13. Chapter 13

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of activity – nobody ever discussed the absolute quagmire of legal or illegal paperwork and logistics involved in having eight people go underground. There was no happily ever after until you first passed through a veritable garden of thorns and got yourself pricked a hundred times.

The total dream time took exactly eight hours and forty-six minutes, which was just enough time for a doctor from the medical team to stumble upon Hongjoong and the dreamers in Yeosang's room. He didn’t make it very far past the door, Hongjoong immediately covering his mouth and snapping his neck, but his going in and not coming back out was suspicious enough to raise the alert level in the household.

And when Hongjoong spotted the passing patrol guards already making their way down the corridor, he’d had no choice but to open fire.

And that’s when shit truly hit the fan. At the sound of bullets, sirens had started to blare deafeningly, and the thunderous sound of boots had started to pound in the distance – with the dreamers’ eyes still firmly closed, Hongjoong wondered how in hell he was supposed to defend himself and them with only one rifle and two packs of bullets, but he didn’t have time to think of the odds.

In an ironic way, it felt very much like being stuck in a dream, the faceless projections hunting him down and out for his blood, but there was no way out via a simple bullet to the head. 

Hongjoong had taken one last look at Seonghwa’s sleeping, peaceful face, and allowed himself to take a moment to grieve for the life they could have had.

And just as the corridor had filled with what seemed like hundreds of guards, a deafening explosion had erupted – from _behind_ them.

And Hongjoong had been baffled for a few seconds, and the guards seemingly just as bewildered, freezing mid-run towards the end of the corridor where only Hongjoong stood defending six defenceless dreamers.

But it seemed someone was determined to make up their minds for them, as another explosion erupted – this time from the distance outside, and even Hongjoong could see the black clouds of smoke and the orange licking of flames from outside the window.

And the guards had scrambled madly in response, a cacophony of yelling _terrorists, we’re under attack_ , and Hongjoong had nearly fallen to his knees in relief as their attackers quickly abandoned their silent west wing corridor in favour of heading in the directions the explosions had been unleashed.

But there had been no time to ponder another near-miss with the god of death, as a hand suddenly touched Hongjoong’s arm, and only years of military discipline hadn’t made him automatically shoot that person in the face.

Good that he didn’t, since it was Seonghwa – eyes finally reopened and _alive_ , and Hongjoong didn’t have time to ponder that either, had wasted no time turning to the bed and finally looking at one person lying there.

Yeosang was staring at the ceiling, barely able to keep his lids open but they were _open_.

And so began the mad rush of their exit, and with Wooyoung also barely able to hold his head up, Yunho had immediately lifted him on his back, and Mingi took charge of Yeosang. Seonghwa grabbed one of the fallen guard's rifles and the first thing he shot were those damn CCTV cameras.

Seven people escaped into the cover of the dawn, and even when they were already ensconced into their getaway car and tearing away, the ground still vibrated with the thundering of explosions, every boom exploding like an orange firework in the morning sky.

If Hongjoong didn’t know better, he’d think San was trying to blow up the entire mansion.

And in his heart, he offered a silent thanks to their saviour, the silent support in the background that had carefully engineered their escape, even at the risk of staying behind and getting himself caught in their place.

And it was only when they were in the safe house and they watched the news, trying to determine if their names had somehow been linked to the pandemonium despite their best efforts to ensure it wasn’t, but the only light the news outlets could shed was that an unexpected, unknown terrorist attack had been wreaked on the home of General Kang, and the amount of damage and victims claimed was still unknown at this time.

Then there had been the second issue to contend with – what about their alibi?

Seonghwa's hidden moles in KQ confirmed that Eden had stepped in one last time – confirming all the team members were currently in an undercover assignment in Shanghai and were currently unreachable at this time at risk of blowing their cover. And General Kang had raged and screamed, but with no concrete evidence linking them anywhere near the mansion in Pohang, he’d had no choice but to retreat or face arrest himself.

And Seonghwa was already stretched thin, trying to keep them all hidden from General Kang’s eyes in this small safe house, multiple favours already called in to wash their hands clean of the incident but until then, they had no choice but to stay put.

Hongjoong was not without his own connections, and he took it upon himself to step in and begin the process of severing their ties with KQ – there had been no shortage of threats flung at him, the board of directors livid at the prospect of losing their biggest cash cow, but he had come prepared with a legal team and a fat wad of cash accumulated from his long service with the military and with KQ themselves. 

So would begin years of courtroom battles, but Hongjoong found it was minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, in the grand scheme of what they’d just accomplished.

They’d finally rescued their comrade. They’d saved him from death. Everything else seemed so insignificant in the face of this fact.

The rest of the team put themselves to good use amidst the ruckus, namely at looking after the two who had been stuck in the dream the longest – Wooyoung, and Yeosang himself.

Wooyoung was unconscious for three days, and had been delirious when he awoke – desperate to find out if Yeosang was okay, and crying for a certain someone that had yet to rejoin them after blowing up half of General Kang’s mansion to irreparable smithereens.

And they could do nothing but assure him that Yeosang was fine, still unconscious but his vitals were stable – as for San...

Mingi had been expecting him to join them any day now, and with no assurance that he didn’t get caught or was able to make a getaway after they’d agreed to leave him behind to cover their escape, Mingi couldn’t blame Wooyoung’s fear and uncertainty. He’d asked Yunho and Jongho, but neither could shed light on it either – and all three of them could do nothing but keep watching and tending over the two recovering members, trying to keep busy to distract themselves from wallowing in dark thoughts.

And Mingi had overheard Wooyoung begging Seonghwa to tell him, because Seonghwa knew _everything_ , surely he’d know this as well.

But Seonghwa had simply shaken his head – his own eyes dark with stress and exhaustion from spending sleepless nights on the phone and laptop with various unknown contacts – and had gently guided Wooyoung back to bed without another word.

And so the tense atmosphere carried on for a few weeks, and it was on the third week, twenty-first day of being in hiding when Yeosang finally re-opened his eyes again.

Mingi had been watching over him quietly; he, Yunho and Jongho had agreed to take turns to sit by him, to ensure someone was there when he finally reopened his eyes, to assure him he was no longer in limbo.

It was so jarring to see those brown eyes meet his, that Mingi immediately tensed – and he was just about to shout for the others, to call their attention, when the words died in his throat.

Yeosang simply stared at him for a few moments before he spoke, voice whisper soft from his parched throat.

“Are you that absolute lunatic that crashed the KAI T-50?”

And Mingi knew straight away that Yeosang in normal conditions would likely have a streak of savagery that was just waiting to be unleashed, but he couldn’t see past the relief making his stomach flutter, his already narrow eyes becoming crescent moons as he threw his head back and laughed. 

Yeosang looked baffled at this reaction for a moment, but the corner of his lip drew up, like he couldn’t help but be infected by Mingi’s laughter.

“I am indeed that lunatic,” Mingi finally said once he was able to contain himself. “I’m Song Mingi. It’s nice to finally meet you, Kang Yeosang.”

And maybe they weren’t quite out of the woods just yet. Maybe they’d be spending the rest of their lives on the run from the sinister shadow of General Kang.

But looking at the shy smile before him, the slight flush on Yeosang’s cheeks like he wasn’t quite sure of what to do with himself or this strange boy introducing himself as if they were already friends, Mingi found he didn’t care about any of that.

And he’d finally called the rest of the team, and the others had come piling in, heading straight for Yeosang and nearly smothering him back to unconsciousness. 

Not a dry eye was in the room, least of all Yeosang’s, looking overwhelmed by the pouring of affection and attention, like he wasn’t expecting everyone to be so happy to see him. Like he didn’t understand how important he was to all of them.

Like he didn’t know he was one of them, and always will be.

_Alone we’re limited, but together we're powerful._

_Eight makes one team_ , Hongjoong had said.

Mingi looked at the teary-eyed faces before him – even if they were missing one, they finally felt complete regardless. And Mingi knew that San was strong, and would likely show up out of the blue one day, when he was ready. And he’d be the first one to give him a big strong hug when he did.

Until then, looking at Yeosang weeping silently into Wooyoung’s shoulder but with a small, trembling smile on his lips, Mingi felt this was enough for now.


	14. Epilogue

It was when Hongjoong was blindly groping the kitchen drawer for a spoon to stir his mug of coffee with, eyes still closed and brain still foggy with sleep, body purely moving on autopilot when the rest of him caught up to what the news anchor was saying.

_“—a prominent 3-Star Air Force General, a highly respected military figure. This has come as a complete shock to his family and colleagues, and our inside sources have gathered that there may be a connection to the terrorist attack on his home in Pohang last year, which brought great tragedy to his family. The assassination was carried out when General Kang was observing a training exercise, and reports on the ground confirm he died at the scene—”_

Hongjoong had heard enough, wide awake even before his first sip of caffeine. “Park Seonghwa! _Come here right now._ ”

His summon was responded to immediately.

“Yes, my Captain?” Hongjoong narrowed his eyes at the man who had sauntered out from the bedroom and was walking in an unhurried, unbothered pace towards him, raven hair mussed with sleep and wearing nothing but an oversized, half-buttoned white shirt, legs in full display and collarbones peeking out enticingly. 

If Hongjoong didn’t force himself to focus on the matter at hand despite this tantalising buffet he was being seduced with, he’d give Park Seonghwa a piece of his mind immediately. Back in that bedroom he had just come from.

And damn him for using that forbidden nickname ‘Captain’. He only ever used it to manipulate Hongjoong, which was unsurprisingly often – and Hongjoong like the helpless fool he was had developed a bloody Pavlovian response to it.

Back to serious matters – Hongjoong gripped the other's wrists to stop the hands that had been busily caressing his chest, holding them firm and staring deep in Seonghwa’s eyes, letting him know he was dead serious.

Seonghwa simply blinked back at him with doe-eyed innocence. Hongjoong used to be taken seriously when he looked at his soldiers like this, once upon a time – that seemed like a lifetime ago now and he was clearly losing his touch.

“Care to explain yourself, Park Seonghwa?” he questioned, ensuring he used his commanding tone.

It didn’t have the intended effect; Seonghwa’s eyes turned decidedly _aroused_.

Even after nearly a year, they couldn’t get enough of each other, every waking minute spent trying to discover every inch of each other’s bodies, to the point Hongjoong wondered if this level of obsession for another person was healthy.

Oh, well. At least the feeling was mutual.

Seonghwa seemed to have decided to humour him, tugging his wrists free and sliding his arms around Hongjoong’s shoulders, absently trailing his fingers on Hongjoong’s nape. “It wasn’t me. Hand to heart.”

And he knew Seonghwa still had secrets that he kept close to his chest, despite opening up a lot of previously inaccessible areas to Hongjoong, and he was fine with that, since he had a few secrets of his own. But Seonghwa rarely felt the need to lie so blatantly to his face, and judging by his sincerity it seemed this was no exception.

“I suppose someone else wanted him gone,” Seonghwa continued in that usual vague way of his, “I mean, he was kind of a dick. Good riddance.” He shrugged one slim shoulder, his loose shirt sliding down his arm at the motion and immediately catching Hongjoong’s attention.

But he forced himself to divert his gaze back up. “And you wouldn’t happen to know who this certain someone is?”

“I won’t say any more without my lawyer present,” Seonghwa drawled, tapping Hongjoong’s nose playfully, and Hongjoong knew he wouldn’t get any more out of him; he blew out an exasperated sigh instead, knowing it was a fruitless endeavour.

“You’re a slippery devil, you know that, my love?” he said instead, sliding his arms around Seonghwa's slender waist, and couldn’t help but chuckle at the sudden blush that filled Seonghwa’s cheeks. He didn’t know why the other got so flustered whenever he called him that, as if he didn’t _know_ that was what he was. 

Sometimes Hongjoong caught him staring, like he couldn’t believe this was his life, that Hongjoong cherished Seonghwa as deeply as Seonghwa cherished Hongjoong.

He wasn’t much of a verbal person, preferring to prove his affection and feelings through actions, but sometimes he knew Seonghwa needed the words, craved them like a starving man.

“I love you, my beautiful, mysterious flower,” he murmured quietly, trailing kisses over the rosy cheeks, the tip of a nose and finally those soft, pouty lips. The gentle kiss very quickly switched to something more heated, and his hands were already cupping the soft swell of Seonghwa’s bottom, lifting him easily to grind him against his rapidly awakening southern area, when their groping was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

Hongjoong was happy to ignore it until whoever was on the other side of the door fucked off, but Seonghwa was already drawing back, lips swollen from their activities. “That’s Wooyoung, so he’s not going to give up until he’s let in.”

On cue, there was a distinct voice floating from all the way out the door, surprisingly audible despite the distance and their soundproofing. “ _Stop fucking and let me in._ ”

As usual, Seonghwa was right, and he got a cheeky wink as Seonghwa padded back to the bedroom, doubtless to put something more decent on and spare them both from Wooyoung’s inevitable comments. Hongjoong stared shamelessly at those impossibly long legs with no small amount of yearning, but instead he headed for the door to let in the impatient kid waiting outside.

“Jesus, hyung, put your goddamn boner away before you stab someone with that,” was the first thing out of Wooyoung’s mouth, because of course it was. _Hello_ was clearly too old-fashioned.

“Well I was in the process of doing just that, before you rudely interrupted,” Hongjoong shot back, grinning sleazily when Wooyoung did a mock-vomiting noise at that.

“Please don’t, I can’t imagine my parents having sex, my purity cannot be tainted,” Wooyoung said queasily, heading straight for the living room where Seonghwa was already waiting, dressed in comfortable lounge wear and decidedly more clothed than he was this morning, but no less stunning.

“What purity,” Seonghwa said dryly, but he was smiling affectionately as Wooyoung headed straight into his arms, hugging the smaller male tightly and pressing a kiss on his forehead. “How is school, little one?”

Wooyoung immediately groaned. “ _Hard_. Stressful. But I’ve got my final exam in a week’s time, and afterwards I’m free as a bird!”

“That’s great, kid,” Hongjoong said genuinely, and he couldn’t help affectionately ruffling the other’s hair. Wooyoung was looking much healthier nowadays, cheeks filled out a bit more and much rosier with relaxation and happiness – he’d come a long way from the pale shadow he’d become after coming out of limbo.

After their miraculously successful attempt at saving Yeosang, Wooyoung had decided to retire from dream sharing completely, unwilling to put his physical and mental health through the strain again. The rest wholeheartedly agreed with this decision, and it gave Wooyoung the opportunity to finally do what he’d always wanted – to study and pursue his passion, in decidedly more safe and legal conditions. 

He was in a fast track chemistry programme and was due to finish in a few weeks’ time, and had already secured an internship at Yuhan Pharmaceutical thanks to his stellar grades, as well as a glowing recommendation from an old friend and future colleague, Choi Jongho.

Jongho himself chose to return to his old life, and from their last group meet-up had boasted that he was the proud recipient of a recent promotion, one of the youngest in the company to have ever held that title. He had also decided that dream sharing was not for him, though if he occasionally supplied them with materials they needed, it was under the table and nobody needed to ask or know.

The remaining dream share team was much smaller now, and comprised of only four people – Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho and Mingi. It was uncommon to have two extractors in a team, but it also meant they could take on twice as many jobs as other teams and commonly split up if needed. And there were plenty of jobs to go around – even if they could no longer use their old name, their reputation carried its own weight just fine, and they had the added bonus of pocketing 100% of the proceeds.

“Did you receive the latest postcard?” Wooyoung was asking, rummaging freely into their fridge for something to snack on. At the question, Hongjoong’s gaze automatically drifted to a corner of their living room they had dedicated to showcasing an array of colourful postcards from far-flung corners of the world, each one blank at the back with simply their names and address written on them.

“Accra, right?” Seonghwa responded as he made them all a cup of tea. “How is it? I’ve never been.”

“He says it’s absolutely boiling and he’s being eaten alive by mosquitoes,” was Wooyoung’s cheerful response, a pint of ice cream secure in his hands and already shoving a spoonful in his mouth as he flung himself on their sofa, completely at home. “But he fell asleep and missed his flight to Addis Ababa so he’s stuck there for another two days. He says he’ll call once he lands.”

After their final escape, Yeosang couldn’t possibly go back to his old life – and rather than tolerate the shame or gossip, his father spun a story that he’d been murdered by the terrorists who had infiltrated their home, weeping in a publicised funeral that had been revolting to watch. 

With no identity and ties to his previous life, Yeosang was finally free – and he took the opportunity to try and discover himself and who he really was, trying to shed the shadow of his former self and all the bad memories that it carried to live a new life. A second chance.

The only person he kept in touch with was Wooyoung through weekly phone calls, always in some new corner of the world that he was currently exploring. Each month he got progressively more tanned, and he’d stopped bleaching his hair, choosing to sport his natural raven locks. He was infinitely more peaceful and carefree – like a trapped bird soaring in the wind and spreading its wings after finally being released from its cage.

The rest of them received a post card each, a simple assurance that they were also in his thoughts – they were always kept blank, almost as if he was reserving all the words for when they eventually saw each other again.

Even in different paths in their lives, they were all so closely intertwined, a deep and unbreakable bond that they all nurtured and kept alive.

“He wanted me to come join him in Muscat after my graduation,” Wooyoung spoke around one last scoop of ice cream in his mouth, the sentence coming out in a muffled garble. He left quickly to shove the leftovers back in the freezer, quickly rinsing his spoon before he could get grief for leaving it dirty.

“And will you?” Seonghwa inquired, head lying on Hongjoong’s lap with his eyes closed as the other ran gentle fingers through his hair.

“I’d go anywhere if it meant getting away from this disgusting display of _domesticity_ ,” he couldn’t help but tease, snickering at the twin glares he received. He settled himself back on the sofa across them, suddenly feeling nervous and fidgeting with his jumper sleeves as he dropped his gaze.

“But you have other plans,” Seonghwa said slowly after taking one look at him, sitting up to face him properly. He was always too damn perceptive for his own good.

Oh well, it saved time on having to elaborate. “Kind of,” he mumbled, still unable to meet their eyes. “I was…I was hoping to go look for _him_.”

There was a short pause, but he didn’t feel the need to fill it as he usually did. The name was unspoken but glaringly obvious, anyway. He couldn’t possibly be referring to anyone else.

After the chaos that had ensued after Yeosang’s rescue and the mad scramble of their escape, there had been no time to look behind to see if everyone was there, and he got swept by the tide – had spent majority of it unconscious anyway. 

By the time he’d awakened, three days had already passed and they were holed up in the safe house Seonghwa had secured, and he spent the next few weeks watching the door, as if any moment the one he waited for would walk in and join them, say sorry he was late.

But he never came – even after the mess had died down, and life went back to some semblance of normality.

Then the months came and went, and he spent it constantly looking over his shoulder, as if the one who just disappeared without a trace would appear all of a sudden with his dimpled smile. 

The only indication that he ever existed in Wooyoung’s life a gold band on his ring finger, a promise of a life they could have had but Wooyoung failed to save.

But he’d also failed Yeosang once upon a time, and had saved him on his second try.

He hoped it was the same for this one, as well.

It wasn’t for lack of trying – he’d tried, even though he didn’t know where to start looking; but he knew who to ask, someone who would definitely know, someone who could at least point him in the right direction.

Seonghwa had looked him straight in the eyes, his own deep with pity and regret as he’d gently declined his request. He told him time apart was necessary, time for both of them to heal and recover from what they’d just been through. Told Wooyoung he should focus on his life first, and when he was finally ready, then he’ll tell him what he knew.

Wooyoung finally felt ready. He hoped Seonghwa thought he was, too.

Hongjoong had clearly read the room and slowly rose wordlessly, but not before bending and cupping Seonghwa’s chin to give him one final kiss, so deep and loving that Wooyoung directed his eyes to the ceiling, unable to even voice out his usual teasing comments.

He gave Wooyoung's hair another ruffle just before he disappeared into the corridor, probably heading straight into his office like the workaholic that he was. Seonghwa watched him go with such yearning in his eyes like they didn’t bloody live together and could see each other whenever they wanted.

Okay, Wooyoung was definitely jealous. He _wanted_ it too, that cheesy domesticity of two people who couldn’t get enough of each other. He didn’t even know what reception awaited him when he finally saw him again – first he had to find him. The rest he’ll play by ear.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” Seonghwa finally spoke, and his gaze was impassive, but Wooyoung could detect the undercurrent of wariness there. “Before I tell you what I know, I want you to understand that you will only get one shot at this. There will be no do-over.” 

His gaze had taken on a more dangerous edge; something he never revealed to any of them for no good reason. And it was times like these that Wooyoung was reminded of what Seonghwa was capable of, and he may be an adoring hyung majority of the time but he was very clear that some lines should never be crossed.

“I won’t help you a second time,” Seonghwa continued, a pointed emphasis in his tone. “Do you understand?”

Wooyoung could only nod meekly, terrified despite himself. 

“I’m ready,” he hoped his voice sounded a lot more stable than he felt. “And if I don’t succeed, then I’ll count my losses and move on.”

He kept his gaze steady on the other's eyes, refusing to waver even as he quaked with nerves.

After a long silence, Seonghwa's eyes gradually grew softer, and Wooyoung knew he’d made his mind up.

“I’ll give you the exact coordinates and a guide on how to get there,” he said, and just from his phrasing Wooyoung knew he would have his work cut out for him. This was not going to be a walk in the park. “And I don’t think you’ll need to worry about not succeeding, but I won’t speak on his behalf.”

Wooyoung managed a weak chuckle at that, but Seonghwa looked solemn and sad all of a sudden.

“I hope you’ll cherish him, Wooyoung-ah,” he said softly, and Wooyoung immediately felt a lump in his throat. “As he has cherished you, for a long time now. Perhaps more than you really know.”

Wooyoung shakily brushed the tears that had spilled down his cheek. “I know, hyung,” he whispered. “I won’t waste this second chance.”

And just before Wooyoung left, clutching the promised coordinates and guide written in a piece of paper in Seonghwa's neat handwriting, Seonghwa said one last thing as he was putting his shoes back on.

“When you were in the hospital, do you recall if Yeosang ever acted differently in your dreams?” The question was so vague and seemingly asked out of the blue, but Wooyoung immediately stopped what he was doing, rising to meet the other’s eyes.

Seonghwa stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, and he looked uncertain, as if he was unsure if he should be disclosing this and if it was his place to say.

Wooyoung remembered those dreams like they happened yesterday, so he knew exactly what he was referring to.

“Sometimes he was his usual self,” he murmured, brow furrowing at the memory. “Other times, he was angry – almost violent. And sometimes…” Sometimes, he was so gentle and affectionate, nearly _loving_ at how he looked at Wooyoung. 

In all the years he'd spent in the real Yeosang's company, the other boy had never looked at him like that.

Almost as if…

“He’s sacrificed a lot for your happiness,” Seonghwa simply said, as if he knew the exact moment Wooyoung realised it. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

Wooyoung wept all the way in the taxi journey home, his sobs so heartbreaking that the driver had silently passed him a box of tissues. He clutched the note close to his chest, praying to all the gods he knew that he wasn’t too late, because he would never love anyone else in this lifetime as deeply as he loved Choi San.

+++

San breathed in the crisp air deeply, a sea of fog blanketing the landscape before him. The day was young, still a few minutes before dawn, but he'd been in a restless mood all night; tossing and turning and unable to sleep, mind consumed with memories that he thought he’d tucked away a long time ago now.

It had been nearly half a year since he’d moved into this new home in this remote corner of the world, as far away from civilisation as he saw fit and so isolated his mobile signal stopped working for weeks at a time. Not that it mattered to him – he had nobody to contact, and he purposely didn’t want anyone to be able to contact him.

He didn’t get many visitors in the little cabin he called home, apart from the odd passing hikers or the occasional visitor of the decidedly more _wild_ variety, but he’d set up enough alarms or traps in the vicinity that it was enough of a deterrent before they even reached his front door.

In all honesty, he thought he’d get bored within the first week, and had planned for this to be a temporary base until he decided on his next move, but weeks had turned into months and he still didn’t feel the urge to move on. It was so quiet and peaceful, and he could be left alone with his thoughts, his only company the cool breeze and the occasional rainfall.

And it was enough for him. San was tired of the exciting life, had had his fair share of adventure and intrigue and disappointment. Or at least, he tried to convince himself that was the case, because it deluded him into believing it was actually true.

Instead of the reality that he was afraid of coming back to the place he used to call home, even though he missed those familiar faces that he used to call his family so fiercely it brought tears to his eyes some nights, and he knew if he jumped on a plane and landed there tonight they would welcome him with open arms and smiles like he never left. The people he hadn’t had the opportunity to properly say goodbye to, too distracted by his heartbreak and too eager to run away and not come back.

And he thought he’d been ready to leave all that behind, close that chapter of his life and gradually let it fade from his memory – until the past came to say hello one day, in the form of a man sipping tea calmly on his dining table, so casual in his posture as if he came over for dinner every day.

San had come back from his walk and immediately noticed something amiss, and had walked into his home with his gun out, ready to shoot.

He lowered his gun, shoulders relaxing immediately. He’d ask how the other got in but he’d be wasting his breath.

Instead, he had said, “I didn’t think you’d make it up here. You’ve always hated hiking.”

The other had snorted out a laugh. “Bold of you to assume I walked. I got airlifted here.”

Because of course he did. Some things never changed, and Park Seonghwa would never fail to surprise him. 

They had embraced for a long time that day, San clutching the other tightly and trying to savour the human contact, something he hadn’t had for a long time living in isolation. And Seonghwa had embraced him just as tightly, as if he understood without needing San to put words to it.

Sadly he couldn’t stay long, but he had stayed for a few hours, filling San in with everything he’d missed, all the events that ensued long after San was already hundred of miles away from them.

So they all made it out, in the end. Even Yeosang, and…San felt his heart wrench with the usual pain and grief. He thought all this time in isolation would dull the ache over time, but the wound was just as fresh.

He wondered if it would always be like this. Even when he’d made the decision to be the one to leave it all behind – if these chains around his heart would always be unbreakable.

“He’s doing well – he’s decided to quit dream sharing and go back to school,” Seonghwa had murmured as he caught San’s expression. “He…asks about you. That’s why I’m here. Because I want to hear it straight from your mouth what you would like to do.”

San appreciated being given the choice, even if instinctively he almost wanted to beg the other to make the decision for him. Because he didn’t know what he wanted – he just knew he’d had enough of it all, even as his heart yearned for the opportunity. He was stuck in the crossroads, and he knew he always would be unless he confronted it head-on.

“Not now,” was the only thing he could say. “When he’s ready, he can come and look for me. I won’t make the first move this time.”

And Seonghwa had taken his wishes to heart, no questions asked. They spent the rest of their time reminiscing memories, and San had promised to offer his freelance services to the remaining team eventually, when he was ready to return to his old life.

“I hope you don’t mind we’re using your PASIV,” Seonghwa said wryly. San had left the silver briefcase behind on purpose, shedding the final tie of his past life, severing the bond. He no longer had any use for it.

“Think of it as my wedding present to you and Hongjoong-hyung,” he said instead, and Seonghwa blushed on cue, just as San expected him to.

And as they stood outside in the cold air, watching the distance for Seonghwa’s helicopter, Seonghwa left him with one final question.

“There’s still a loose end; a certain irritating shadow from the past, still desperately trying to pin us down – without much success, I can assure you,” Seonghwa sounded dryly amused. “I’d be more than happy to close off that chapter for all of us – but I think it’s more fitting if you did.”

Park Seonghwa always was two steps ahead – some things never changed.

“It would be my utmost pleasure,” he’d said, and they exchanged a smile, a mirrored gesture of two people who understood each other inside out, because they were too similar to each other in more ways than one.

He got back just a week ago, still a bit jetlagged from the time difference, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to the satisfaction he still felt to this day.

He’d stayed a few days longer than anticipated, couldn’t resist the chaos and inevitable fallout that had ensued at the pathetic end of General Kang, had smiled so widely as he watched the news that the waitress serving his coffee had spilled it in her nervousness.

It had been a fitting end for him, surrounded by all his soldiers and lording over them like he was an emperor on a throne, naively believing he was completely invincible and immortal.

But he was just a man, at the end of the day – and all men bleed. San had watched his smug face through the scope of his sniper rifle, and his hand had been steady as he finally pulled the trigger. He’d laughed and laughed at the way General Kang’s head had exploded like a firework, splattering his useless men with showers of matter and his blood spraying like a crimson fountain.

The image still made him chuckle from time to time. It was sick and twisted, surely, to be so amused by someone’s death. 

Oh, well. San already knew he wasn’t all right in the head, anyway. Maybe it was better he stayed away from all the other normal people of society.

Dawn was beginning to break, its bright rays illuminating the landscape, the fog slowly filtering away and revealing the lush, green space it had been cloaking. He rose slowly, already thinking about breakfast, when a figure began to emerge from the distance.

His limbs slowly froze, and he found himself unable to move, could only stare helplessly as the figure slowly drew closer and closer. Numb with shock until the person was already right in front of him, still panting from exertion and the strain of the hike.

“I know—your name—means mountain,” was the first thing the new arrival gasped out, heaving in deep gulps of air and bending over to catch his breath. He was drenched in sweat, hair wild and mussed from the wind, tip of his nose red due to the chilly air. “But—you—didn’t have to—live—in one.”

And San could only keep staring like an idiot, couldn’t believe his eyes. Was the isolation making him hallucinate? Had he finally fallen off the deep end?

He drank in the sight of the man in front of him, running his eyes over each unique feature with unblinking eyes, as if afraid closing them for even a second would break the spell.

He looked much the same, but much healthier than when he last saw him – he looked absolutely destroyed by the hike, and frankly looked a bit ridiculous, but…

He was the most beautiful thing San had ever seen. He always had been.

The other took one final gulp, and had seemingly finally caught his breath. He straightened up, and nervously shifted his backpack – San’s eyes immediately caught the gold ring he wore on his left hand, on his ring finger.

“I’ve come to pick you up,” Wooyoung finally spoke, and his voice wavered a little like he was afraid, but was willing to give it a shot anyway. “If you’ll still have me.”

And who knows if this would lead to a happily ever after. Who knew what lied ahead.

None of that seemed to matter – San’s heart burst with emotion like a barrage of fireworks, tears spilling out his eyes and his dimples reappearing after being hidden for a very long time.

And as he lifted the other into his arms and pressed their lips together, his mind was blank save for one emotion – _love_.

San was finally ready to come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s a wrap!
> 
> This has been, by far, my most ambitious work yet, and I definitely felt a lot of pressure during the writing process since I’m so passionate about both the universe and the characters. I didn’t think I had it in me to write something so convoluted and challenging, but nevertheless I'm happy with the end result.
> 
> If there are any areas that need clarification please do let me know, and all errors are my own since this work is unbeta'd.
> 
> Admittedly this might be a bit of a niche fic but I truly hope whoever took the time to read it enjoyed it nonetheless.
> 
> Any feedback is most appreciated – please do share your thoughts with me in the comments.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)
> 
> \- vaxylia


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